A  NEW  ENGLAND 
GIRLHOOD 


BY  LUCY  LARCOM 


A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD 


SAT  AND  SEWED  THERE  THROUGH  THE  SUMMER 

AFTERNOON  (page  146) 


A  NEW  ENGLAND 
GIRLHOOD 

Outlined  from  Memory 

BY 
LUCY  LARCOM 

NEW  EDITION 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1889,  BY  LUCY  LARCOM 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
PRINTED  IN  THE  U.S.A. 


MAlfJ 


I  DEDICATE  THIS  SKETCH 
TO  MY  GIRL  FRIENDS  IN  GENERAL 

AND  IN  PARTICULAR 
TO  MY  NAMESAKE  NIECE 

LUCY  LARCOM  SPAULDING 


573804 


Happy  those  early  days,  when  I 
Shined  in  my  angel-infancy ! 
—  When  on  some  gilded  cloud  or  flower 
My  gazing  soul  would  dwell  an  hour, 
And  in  those  weaker  glories  spy 
Some  shadows  of  eternity  :  — 
Before  I  taught  my  tongue  to  wound 
My  conscience  by  a  sinful  sound ;  — 
But  felt  through  all  this  fleshly  dress 
Bright  shoots  of  everlastingness. 

HENRY  VAUGHAN. 

The  thought  of  our  past  years  in  me  doth  breed 

Perpetual  benediction. 

WORDSWORTH. 


PREFACE. 


THE  following  sketch  was  written  for  the 
young,  at  the  suggestion  of  friends. 

My  audience  is  understood  to  be  composed  of 
girls  of  all  ages,  and  of  women  who  have  not  for 
gotten  their  girlhood.  Such  as  have  a  friendly 
appreciation  of  girls  —  and  of  those  who  write 
for  them  —  are  also  welcome  to  listen  to  as  much 
of  my  narrative  as  they  choose.  All  others  are 
eavesdroppers,  and,  of  course,  have  no  right  to 
criticise. 

To  many,  the  word  "autobiography"  implies 
nothing  but  conceit  and  egotism.  But  these  are 
not  necessarily  its  characteristics.  If  an  apple 
blossom  or  a  ripe  apple  could  tell  its  own  story, 
it  would  be,  still  more  than  its  own,  the  story  of 
the  sunshine  that  smiled  upon  it,  of  the  winds  that 
whispered  to  it,  of  the  birds  that  sang  around  it, 
of  the  storms  that  visited  it,  and  of  the  motherly 
tree  that  held  it  and  fed  it  until  its  petals  were 
unfolded  and  its  form  developed. 

A  complete  autobiography  would  indeed  be  a 
picture  of  the  outer  and  inner  universe  photo 
graphed  upon  one  little  life's  consciousness.  For 


6  PREFACE. 

does  not  the  whole  world,  seen  and  unseen,  go  to 
the  making  up  of  every  human  being  ?  The  com 
monest  personal  history  has  its  value  when  it  is 
looked  at  as  a  part  of  the  One  Infinite  Life.  Our 
life  —  which  is  the  very  best  thing  we  have  —  is 
ours  only  that  we  may  share  it  with  Our  Father's 
family,  at  their  need.  If  we  have  anything  with 
in  us  worth  giving  away,  to  withhold  it  is  ungen 
erous  ;  and  we  cannot  look  honestly  into  ourselves 
without  acknowledging  with  humility  our  debt 
to  the  lives  around  us  for  whatever  of  power  or 
beauty  has  been  poured  into  ours. 

None  of  us  can  think  of  ourselves  as  entirely 
separate  beings.  Evei\  an  autobiographer  has  to 
say  "  we  "  much  oftener  than  "  I."  Indeed,  there 
may  be  more  egotism  in  withdrawing  mysteriously 
into  one's  self,  than  in  frankly  unfolding  one's 
life -story,  for  better  or  worse.  There  may  be 
more  vanity  in  covering  one's  face  with  a  veil,  to 
be  wondered  at  and  guessed  about,  than  in  draw 
ing  it  aside,  and  saying  by  that  act,  "  There !  you 
see  that  I  am  nothing  remarkable." 

However,  I  do  not  know  that  I  altogether  ap 
prove  of  autobiography  myself,  when  the  subject 
is  a  person  of  so  little  importance  as  in  the  pres 
ent  instance.  Still,  it  may  have  a  reason  for  be 
ing,  even  in  a  case  like  this. 

Every  one  whose  name  is  before  the  public  at 
all  must  be  aware  of  a  common  annoyance  in  the 
frequent  requests  which  are  made  for  personal 


PREFACE.  1 

facts,  data  for  biographical  paragraphs,  and  the 
like.  To  answer  such  requests  and  furnish  the 
material  asked  for,  were  it  desirable,  would  inter 
fere  seriously  with  the  necessary  work  of  almost 
any  writer.  The  first  impulse  is  to  pay  no  atten 
tion  to  them,  putting  them  aside  as  mere  signs  of 
the  ill-bred,  idle  curiosity  of  the  age  we  live  in 
about  people  and  their  private  affairs.  It  does 
not  seem  to  be  supposed  possible  that  authors 
can  have  any  natural  shrinking  from  publicity, 
like  other  mortals. 

But  while  one  would  not  willingly  encourage 
an  intrusive  custom,  there  is  another  view  of  the 
matter.  The  most  enjoyable  thing  about  writing 
is  that  the  relation  between  writer  and  reader 
may  be  and  often  does  become  that  of  mutual 
friendship ;  and  friends  naturally  like  to  know 
each  other  in  a  neighborly  way. 

We  are  all  willing  to  gossip  about  ourselves, 
sometimes,  with  those  who  are  really  interested 
in  us.  Girls  especially  are  fond  of  exchanging 
confidences  with  those  whom  they  think  they  can 
trust ;  it  is  one  of  the  most  charming  traits  of  a 
simple,  earnest-hearted  girlhood,  and  they  are  the 
happiest  women  who  never  lose  it  entirely. 

I  should  like  far  better  to  listen  to  my  girl- 
readers'  thoughts  about  life  and  themselves  than 
to  be  writing  out  my  own  experiences.  It  is  to 
my  disadvantage  that  the  confidences,  in  this  case, 
must  all  be  on  one  side.  But  I  have  known  sa 


8  PREFACE. 

many  girls  so  well  in  my  relation  to  them  of 
schoolmate,  workmate,  and  teacher,  I  feel  sure  of 
a  fair  share  of  their  sympathy  and  attention. 

It  is  hardly  possible  for  an  author  to  write  any 
thing  sincerely  without  making  it  something  of 
an  autobiography.  Friends  can  always  read  a 
personal  history,  or  guess  at  it,  between  the  lines. 
So  I  sometimes  think  I  have  already  written  mine, 
in  my  verses.  In  them,  I  have  found  the  most 
natural  and  free  expression  of  myself.  They  have 
seemed  to  set  my  life  to  music  for  me,  a  life  that 
tias  always  had  to  be  occupied  with  many  things 
besides  writing.  Not,  however,  that  I  claim  to 
have  written  much  poetry :  only  perhaps  some 
true  rhymes :  I  do  not  see  how  there  could  be 
any  pleasure  in  writing  insincere  ones. 

Whatever  special  interest  this  little  narrative 
of  mine  may  have  is  due  to  the  social  influences 
under  which  I  was  reared,  and  particularly  to  the 
prominent  place  held  by  both  work  and  religion 
in  New  England  half  a  century  ago.  The  period 
of  my  growing -up  had  peculiarities  which  our 
future  history  can  never  repeat,  although  some 
thing  far  better  is  undoubtedly  already  resulting 
thence.  Those  peculiarities  were  the  natural  de 
velopment  of  the  seed  sown  by  our  sturdy  Puritan 
ancestry.  The  religion  of  our  fathers  overhung 
us  children  like  the  shadow  of  a  mighty  tree 
against  the  trunk  of  which  we  rested,  while  we 
looked  up  in  wonder  through  the  great  boughs 


PREFACE.  9 

that  half  hid  and  half  revealed  the  sky.  Some 
of  the  boughs  were  already  decaying,  so  that  per 
haps  we  began  to  see  a  little  more  of  the  sky 
than  our  elders ;  but  the  tree  was  sound  at  its 
heart.  There  was  life  in  it  that  can  never  be  lost 
to  the  world. 

One  thing  we  are  at  last  beginning  to  under 
stand,  which  our  ancestors  evidently  had  not 
learned ;  that  it  is  far  more  needful  for  theolo 
gians  to  become  as  little  children,  than  for  little 
children  to  become  theologians.  They  considered 
it  a  duty  that  they  owed  to  the  youngest  of  us,  to 
teach  us  doctrines.  And  we  believed  in  our  in 
structors,  if  we  could  not  always  digest  their  in 
structions.  We  learned  to  reverence  truth  as 
they  received  it  and  lived  it,  and  to  feel  that  the 
search  for  truth  was  one  chief  end  of  our  being. 

It  was  a  pity  that  we  were  expected  to  begin 
thinking  upon  hard  subjects  so  soon,  and  it  was 
also  a  pity  that  we  were  set  to  hard  work  while 
so  young.  Yet  these  were  both  inevitable  results 
of  circumstances  then  existing ;  and  perhaps  the 
two  belong  together.  Perhaps  habits  of  conscien 
tious  work  induce  thought.  Certainly,  right  think 
ing  naturally  impels  people  to  work. 

We  learned  no  theories  about  "  the  dignity  of 
labor,'*  but  we  were  taught  to  work  almost  as  if 
it  were  a  religion;  to  keep  at  work,  expecting 
nothing  else.  It  was  our  inheritance,  handed 
down  from  the  outcasts  of  Eden.  And  for  us, 


10  PREFACE. 

as  for  them,  there  was  a  blessing  hidden  in  the 
curse.  I  am  glad  that  I  grew  up  under  these 
wholesome  Puritanic  influences,  as  glad  as  I  am 
that  I  was  born  a  New  Englander ;  and  I  surely 
should  have  chosen  New  England  for  my  birth 
place  before  any  region  under  the  sun. 

Rich  or  poor,  every  child  comes  into  the  world 
with  some  imperative  need  of  its  own,  which 
shapes  its  individuality.  I  believe  it  was  Grotius 
who  said,  "  Books  are  necessities  of  my  life.  Food 
and  clothing  I  can  do  without,  if  I  must." 

My  "  must-have  "  was  poetry.  From  the  first, 
life  meant  that  to  me.  And,  fortunately,  poetry 
is  not  purchasable  material,  but  an  atmosphere  in 
which  every  life  may  expand.  I  found  it  every 
where  about  me.  The  children  of  old  New  Eng 
land  were  always  surrounded,  it  is  true,  with  stub 
born  matter  of  fact,  —  the  hand  to  hand  struggle 
for  existence.  But  that  was  no  hindrance.  Po 
etry  must  have  prose  to  root  itself  in ;  the  home 
lier  its  earth-spot,  the  lovelier,  by  contrast,  its 
heaven-breathing  flowers. 

To  different  minds,  poetry  may  present  dif 
ferent  phases.  To  me,  the  reverent  faith  of  the 
people  I  lived  among,  and  their  faithful  every 
day  living,  was  poetry ;  blossoms  and  trees  and 
blue  skies  were  poetry.  God  himself  was  poetry. 
As  I  grew  up  and  lived  on,  friendship  became 
to  me  the  deepest  and  sweetest  ideal  of  poetry. 
To  live  in  other  lives,  to  take  their  power  and 


PREFACE.  11 

beauty  into  our  own,  that  is  poetry  experienced^ 
the  most  inspiring  of  all.  Poetry  embodied  in 
persons,  in  lovely  and  lofty  characters,  more 
sacredly  than  all  in  the  One  Divine  Person  who 
has  transfigured  our  human  life  with  the  glory 
of  His  sacrifice,  —  all  the  great  lyrics  and  epics 
pale  before  that,  and  it  is  within  the  reach  and 
comprehension  of  every  human  soul. 

To  care  for  poetry  in  this  way  does  not  make 
one  a  poet,  but  it  does  make  one  feel  blessedly 
rich,  and  quite  indifferent  to  many  things  which 
are  usually  looked  upon  as  desirable  possessions. 
I  am  sincerely  grateful  that  it  was  given  to  me, 
from  childhood,  to  see  life  from  this  point  of 
view.  And  it  seems  to  me  that  every  young  girl 
would  be  happier  for  beginning  her  earthly  journey 
with  the  thankful  consciousness  that  her  life  does 
not  consist  in  the  abundance  of  things  that  she 
possesses. 

The  highest  possible  poetic  conception  is  that 
of  a  life  consecrated  to  a  noble  ideal.  It  may  be 
unable  to  find  expression  for  itself  except  through 
humble,  even  menial  services,  or  through  unself 
ish  devotion  whose  silent  song  is  audible  to  God 
alone ;  yet  such  music  as  this  might  rise  to  heaven 
from  every  young  girl's  heart  and  character  if 
she  would  set  it  free.  In  such  ways  it  was  meant 
that  the  world  should  be  filled  with  the  true  poetry 
of  womanhood. 

It  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  facts  in  this 


12  PREFACE. 

human  existence  of  ours,  that  we  remember  the 
earliest  and  freshest  part  of  it  most  vividly. 
Doubtless  it  was  meant  that  our  childhood  should 
live  on  in  us  forever.  My  childhood  was  by  no 
means  a  cloudless  one.  It  had  its  light  and  shade, 
each  contributing  a  charm  which  makes  it  wholly 
delightful  in  the  retrospect. 

I  can  see  very  distinctly  the  child  that  I  was, 
and  I  know  how  the  world  looked  to  her,  far  off 
as  she  is  now.  She  seems  to  me  like  my  little 
sister,  at  play  in  a  garden  where  I  can  at  any 
time  return  and  find  her.  I  have  enjoyed  bringing 
her  back,  and  letting  her  tell  her  story,  almost  as 
if  she  were  somebody  else.  I  like  her  better  than 
I  did  when  I  was  really  a  child,  and  I  hope  never 
to  part  company  with  her. 

I  do  not  feel  so  much  satisfaction  in  the  older 
girl  who  comes  between  her  and  me,  although  she, 
too,  is  enough  like  me  to  be  my  sister,  or  even 
more  like  my  young,  undisciplined  mother ;  for 
the  girl  is  mother  of  the  woman.  But  I  have  to 
acknowledge  her  faults  and  mistakes  as  my  own, 
while  I  sometimes  feel  like  reproving  her  severely 
for  her  carelessly  performed  tasks,  her  habit  of 
lapsing  into  listless  reveries,  her  cowardly  shrink 
ing  from  responsibility  and  vigorous  endeavor, 
and  many  other  faults  that  I  have  inherited  from 
her.  Still,  she  is  myself,  and  I  could  not  be 
quite  happy  without  her  comradeship. 

Every  phase  of  our  life  belongs  to  us.   The  moon 


PREFACE.  13 

does  not,  except  in  appearance,  lose  her  first  thin, 
luminous  curve,  nor  her  silvery  crescent,  in  round 
ing  to  her  full.  The  woman  is  still  both  child  and 
girl,  in  the  completeness  of  womanly  character. 
We  have  a  right  to  our  entire  selves,  through  all 
the  changes  of  this  mortal  state,  a  claim  which 
we  shall  doubtless  carry  along  with  us  into  the 
unfolding  mysteries  of  our  eternal  being.  Per 
haps  in  this  thought  lies  hidden  the  secret  of 
immortal  youth ;  for  a  seer  has  said  that  "  to  grow 
old  in  heaven  is  to  grow  young." 

To  take  life  as  it  is  sent  to  us,  to  live  it  faith 
fully,  looking  and  striving  always  towards  better 
life,  this  was  the  lesson  that  came  to  me  from  my 
early  teachers.  It  was  not  an  easy  lesson,  but  it 
was  a  healthful  one  ;  and  I  pass  it  on  to  younger 
pupils,  trusting  that  they  will  learn  it  more 
thoroughly  than  I  ever  have. 

Young  or  old,  we  may  all  win  inspiration  to  do 
our  best,  from  the  needs  of  a  world  to  which  the 
humblest  life  may  be  permitted  to  bring  im* 
measurable  blessings :  — 

"  For  no  one  doth  know 

What  he  can  bestow, 

What  light,  strength,  and  beauty  may  after  him  go : 
Thus  onward  we  move, 
And,  save  God  above, 
None  guesseth  how  wondrous  the  journey  will  prove." 

L.L. 

BEVERLY,  MASSACHUSETTS, 
October,  1889. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 

I.    UP  AND   DOWN  THE   LANE                              .           •           •  17 

II.  SCHOOLROOM  AND  MEETING-HOUSE   ...  37 

III.  THE  HYMN-BOOK 58 

IV.  NAUGHTY  CHILDREN  AND  FAIRY  TALES   .       .  74 
V.  OLD  NEW  ENGLAND 93 

VI.  GLIMPSES  OF  POETRY.        .        •        t        .        .  118 

VII.  BEGINNING  TO  WORK 137 

VIII.  BY  THE  RIVER 162 

IX.  MOUNTAIN-FRIENDS.        ......  186 

X.  MILL-GIRLS'  MAGAZINES 203 

XI.  READING  AND  STUDYING  .  .  •  .  .226 

XIL  FROM  THE  MERRIMACK  TO  THE  MISSISSIPPI  .  248 


A  NEW  ENGLAND   GIRLHOOD, 


UP  AND  DOWN  THE  LANE. 

IT  is  strange  that  the  spot  of  earth  where  we 
were  born  should  make  such  a  difference  to  us. 
People  can  live  and  grow  anywhere,  but  people 
as  well  as  plants  have  their  habitat,  —  the  place 
where  they  belong,  and  where  they  find  their  hap 
piest,  because  their  most  natural  life.  If  I  had 
opened  my  eyes  upon  this  planet  elsewhere  than 
in  this  northeastern  corner  of  Massachusetts,  else 
where  than  on  this  green,  rocky  strip  of  shore 
between  Beverly  Bridge  and  the  Misery  Islands, 
it  seems  to  me  as  if  I  must  have  been  somebody 
else,  and  not  myself.  These  gray  ledges  hold  me 
by  the  roots,  as  they  do  the  bayberry  bushes,  the 
sweet-fern,  and  the  rock-saxifrage. 

When  I  look  from  my  window  over  the  tree- 
tops  to  the  sea,  I  could  almost  fancy  that  from  the 
deck  of  some  one  of  those  inward  bound  vessels 
the  wistful  eyes  of  the  Lady  Arbella  might  be 
turned  towards  this  very  hillside,  and  that  mine 


18  i  *NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

were  meeting  hers  in  sympathy,  across  the  graves 
of  two  hundred  and  fifty  years.  For  Winthrop's 
fleet,  led  by  the  ship  that  bore  her  name,  must 
have  passed  into  harbor  that  way.  Dear  and  gra 
cious  spirit !  The  memory  of  her  brief  sojourn 
here  has  left  New  England  more  truly  consecrated 
ground.  Sweetest  of  womanly  pioneers !  It  is  as 
if  an  angel  in  passing  on  to  heaven  just  touched 
with  her  wings  this  rough  coast  of  ours. 

In  those  primitive  years,  before  any  town  but 
Salem  had  been  named,  this  whole  region  was 
known  as  Cape  Ann  Side  ;  and  about  ten  years 
after  Winthrop's  arrival,  my  first  ancestor's  name 
appears  among  those  of  other  hardy  settlers  of  the 
neighborhood.  No  record  has  been  found  of  his 
coming,  but  emigration  by  that  time  had  grown 
so  rapid  that  ships'  lists  were  no  longer  carefully 
preserved.  And  then  he  was  but  a  simple  yeo 
man,  a  tiller  of  the  soil ;  one  who  must  have  loved 
the  sea,  however,  for  he  moved  nearer  and  nearer 
towards  it  from  Agawam  through  Wenham  woods, 
until  the  close  of  the  seventeenth  century  found 
his  descendants  —  my  own  great  -  great  -  grand 
father's  family  —  planted  in  a  romantic  home 
stead-nook  on  a  hillside,  overlooking  wide  gray 
spaces  of  the  bay  at  the  part  of  Beverly  known 
as  "The  Farms."  The  situation  was  beautiful, 
and  home  attachments  proved  tenacious,  the  fam 
ily  claim  to  the  farm  having  only  been  resigned 
within  the  last  thirty  or  forty  years. 


TTP  AND  DOWN  THE  LANE.  19 

I  am  proud  of  my  unlettered  forefathers,  who 
were  also  too  humbly  proud  to  care  whether  their 
names  would  be  remembered  or  not ;  for  they 
were  God-fearing  men,  and  had  been  persecuted 
for  their  faith  long  before  they  found  their  way 
either  to  Old  or  New  England. 

The  name  is  rather  an  unusual  one,  and  has 
been  traced  back  from  Wales  and  the  Isle  of 
Wight  through  France  to  Languedoc  and  Pied 
mont  ;  a  little  hamlet  in  the  south  of  France  still 
bearing  it  in  what  was  probably  the  original 
spelling  —  La.  Combe.  There  is  a  family  shield 
in  existence,  showing  a  hill  surmounted  by  a  tree, 
and  a  bird  with  spread  wings  above.  It  might 
symbolize  flight  in  times  of  persecution,  from  the 
mountains  to  the  forests,  and  thence  to  heaven, 
or  to  the  free  skies  of  this  New  World. 

But  it  is  certain  that  my  own  immediate  an 
cestors  were  both  indifferent  and  ignorant  as  to 
questions  of  pedigree,  and  accepted  with  sturdy 
dignity  an  inheritance  of  hard  work  and  the  privi 
leges  of  poverty,  leaving  the  same  bequest  to  their 
descendants.  And  poverty  has  its  privileges. 
When  there  is  very  little  of  the  seen  and  tem 
poral  to  intercept  spiritual  vision,  unseen  and 
eternal  realities  are,  or  may  be,  more  clearly  be 
held. 

To  have  been  born  of  people  of  integrity  and 
profound  faith  in  God,  is  better  than  to  have  in 
herited  material  wealth  of  any  kind.  And  to  those 


20  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

serious-minded,  reticent  progenitors  of  mine, 

ing  out  from  their  lonely  fields  across  the  lonelier 

sea,  their  faith  must  have  been  everything. 

My  father's  parents  both  died  years  before  my 
birth.  My  grandmother  had  been  left  a  widow 
with  a  large  family  in  my  father's  boyhood,  and 
he,  with  the  rest,  had  to  toil  early  for  a  livelihood. 
She  was  an  earnest  Christian  woman,  of  keen  in 
telligence  and  unusual  spiritual  perception.  She 
was  supposed  by  her  neighbors  to  have  the  gift 
of  "  second  sight  "  ;  and  some  remarkable  stories 
are  told  of  her  knowledge  of  distant  events  while 
they  were  occurring,  or  just  before  they  took 
place.  Her  dignity  of  presence  and  character 
must  have  been  noticeable. 

A  relative  of  mine,  who  as  a  very  little  child, 
was  taken  by  her  mother  to  visit  my  grandmother, 
told  me  that  she  had  always  remembered  the  aged 
woman's  solemnity  of  voice  and  bearing,  and  her 
mother's  deferential  attitude  towards  her ;  and  she 
was  so  profoundly  impressed  by  it  all  at  the  time, 
that  when  they  had  left  the  house,  and  were  on 
their  homeward  path  through  the  woods,  she  looked 
up  into  her  mother's  face  and  asked  in  a  whis 
per,  "Mother,  was  that  God?" 

I  used  sometimes  to  feel  a  little  resentment  at 
my  fate  in  not  having  been  born  at  the  old  Bev 
erly  Farms  home-place,  as  my  father  and  uncles 
and  aunts  and  some  of  my  cousins  had  been.  But 
perhaps  I  had  more  of  the  romantic  and  legend. 


UP  AND  DOWN  THE  LANE.  21 

ary  charm  of  it  than  if  I  had  been  brought  up 
there,  for  my  father,  in  his  communicative  moods, 
never  wearied  of  telling  us  about  his  childhood  ; 
and  we  felt  that  we  still  held  a  birthright  claim 
upon  that  picturesque  spot  through  him.  Besides, 
it  was  only  three  or  four  miles  away,  and  before 
the  day  of  railroads,  that  was  thought  nothing  of 
as  a  walk,  by  young  or  old. 

But,  in  fact,  I  first  saw  the  light  in  the  very 
middle  of  Beverly,  in  full  view  of  the  town  clock 
and  the  Old  South  steeple.  (I  believe  there  is  an 
"  Old  South  "  in  nearly  all  these  first-settled  cit 
ies  and  villages  of  Eastern  Massachusetts.)  The 
town  wore  a  half -rustic  air  of  antiquity  then, 
with  its  old  -  fashioned  people  and  weather  -  worn 
houses ;  for  I  was  born  while  my  mother-century 
was  still  in  her  youth,  just  rounding  the  first 
quarter  of  her  hundred  years. 

Primitive  ways  of  doing  things  had  not  wholly 
ceased  during  my  childhood ;  they  were  kept  up 
in  these  old  towns  longer  than  elsewhere.  We 
used  tallow  candles  and  oil  lamps,  and  sat  by  open 
fireplaces.  There  was  always  a  tinder-box  in 
some  safe  corner  or  other,  and  fire  was  kindled 
by  striking  flint  and  steel  upon  the  tinder.  What 
magic  it  seemed  to  me,  when  I  was  first  allowed 
to  strike  that  wonderful  spark,  and  light  the 
kitchen  fire ! 

The  fireplace  was  deep,  and  there  was  a  "  set 
tle  "  in  the  chimney  corner,  where  three  of  us 


22  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

youngest  girls  could  sit  together  and  toast  our 
toes  on  the  andirons  (two  Continental  soldiers 
in  full  uniform,  marching  one  after  the  other), 
while  we  looked  up  the  chimney  into  a  square  of 
blue  sky,  and  sometimes  caught  a  snow-flake  on 
our  foreheads ;  or  sometimes  smirched  our  clean 
aprons  (high-necked  and  long-sleeved  ones,  known 
as  "  tiers  ")  against  the  swinging  crane  with  its 
sooty  pot-hooks  and  trammels. 

The  coffee-pot  was  set  for  breakfast  over  hot 
coals,  on  a  three-legged  bit  of  iron  called  a 
"  trivet."  Potatoes  were  roasted  in  the  ashes, 
and  the  Thanksgiving  turkey  in  a  "  tin-kitchen," 
the  business  of  turning  the  spit  being  usually  del* 
egated  to  some  of  us  small  folk,  who  were  only  too 
willing  to  burn  our  faces  in  honor  of  the  annual 
festival. 

There  were  brick  ovens  in  the  chimney  corner, 
where  the  great  bakings  were  done  ;  but  there 
was  also  an  iron  article  called  a  "  Dutch  oven,'* 
in  which  delicious  bread  could  be  baked  over  the 
coals  at  short  notice.  And  there  never  was  any 
thing  that  tasted  better  than  my  mother's  "  fire- 
cake,"  —  a  short-cake  spread  on  a  smooth  piece 
of  board,  and  set  up  with  a  flat-iron  before  the 
blaze,  browned  on  one  side,  and  then  turned  over 
to  be  browned  on  the  other.  (It  required  some 
sleight  of  hand  to  do  that.)  If  I  could  only  be 
allowed  to  blow  the  bellows  —  the  very  old  peo 
ple  called  them  "  belluses  "  —  when  the  fire  began 
to  get  low,  I  was  a  happy  girL 


UP  AND  DOWN  THE  LANE.  23 

Cooking-stoves  were  coming  into  fashion,  but 
they  were  clumsy  affairs,  and  our  elders  thought 
that  no  cooking  could  be  quite  so  nice  as  that 
which  was  done  by  an  open  fire.  We  younger 
ones  reveled  in  the  warm,  beautiful  glow,  that  we 
look  back  to  as  to  a  remembered  sunset.  There 
is  no  such  home-splendor  now. 

When  supper  was  finished,  and  the  tea-kettle 
was  pushed  back  on  the  crane,  and  the  backlog 
had  been  reduced  to  a  heap  of  fiery  embers,  then 
was  the  time  for  listening  to  sailor  yarns  and  ghost 
and  witch  legends.  The  wonder  seems  somehow 
to  have  faded  out  of  those  tales  of  eld  since  the 
gleam  of  red-hot  coals  died  away  from  the  hearth 
stone.  The  shutting  up  of  the  great  fireplaces 
and  the  introduction  of  stoves  marks  an  era ;  the 
abdication  of  shaggy  Eomance  and  the  enthrone 
ment  of  elegant  Commonplace  —  sometimes,  alas ! 
the  opposite  of  elegant  —  at  the  New  England 
fireside. 

Have  we  indeed  a  fireside  any  longer  in  the  old 
sense  ?  It  hardly  seems  as  if  the  young  people  of 
to-day  can  really  understand  the  poetry  of  Eng 
lish  domestic  life,  reading  it,  as  they  must,  by  a 
reflected  illumination  from  the  past.  What  would 
the  "Cotter's  Saturday  Night"  have  been,  if 
Burns  had  written  it  by  the  opaque  heat  of  a 
stove  instead  of  at  his 

"  Wee  bit  ing-le  blinkiu'  bonnilie  ?'' 

New  England  as   it  used  to  be  was  so  mucl 


24  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

like  Scotland  in  many  of  its  ways  of  doing  and 
thinking,  that  it  almost  seems  as  if  that  tender 
poem  of  hearth-and-home  life  had  been  written 
for  us  too.  I  can  see  the  features  of  my  father, 
who  died  when  I  was  a  little  child,  whenever  I 
read  the  familiar  verse :  — 

"  The  cheerfu'  supper  done,  wi'  serious  face 
They  round  the  ingle  form  a  circle  wide  : 
The  sire  turns  o'er,  Vvi'  patriarchal  grace, 
The  big  ha'  Bible,  ance  his  father's  pride." 

A  grave,  thoughtful  face  his  was,  lifted  up  so 
grandly  amid  that  blooming  semicircle  of  boys 
and  girls,  all  gathered  silently  in  the  glow  of  the 
ruddy  firelight !  The  great  family  Bible  had  the 
look  upon  its  leathern  covers  of  a  book  that  had 
never  been  new,  and  we  honored  it  the  more  for 
its  apparent  age.  Its  companion  was  the  West 
minster  Assembly's  and  Shorter  Catechism,  out  of 
which  my  father  asked  us  questions  on  Sabbath 
afternoons,  when  the  tea-table  had  been  cleared. 
He  ended  the  exercise  with  a  prayer,  standing  up 
with  his  face  turned  toward  the  wall.  My  most 
vivid  recollection  of  his  living  face  is  as  I  saw  it 
reflected  in  a  mirror  while  he  stood  thus  praying. 
His  closed  eyes,  the  paleness  and  seriousness  of 
his  countenance,  awed  me.  I  never  forgot  that 
look.  I  saw  it  but  once  again,  when,  a  child  of 
six  or  seven  years,  I  was  lifted  to  a  footstool  be 
side  his  coffin  to  gaze  upon  his  face  for  the  last 
time.  It  wore  the  same  expression  that  it  did  in 


UP  AND  DOWN  THE  LANE.  25 

prayer ;  paler,  but  no  longer  care-worn ;  so  peace 
ful,  so  noble !  They  left  me  standing  there  a 
long  time,  and  I  could  not  take  my  eyes  away.  I 
had  never  thought  my  father's  face  a  beautiful 
one  until  then,  but  I  believe  it  must  have  been 
so,  always. 

I  know  that  he  was  a  studious  man,  fond  of 
what  was  called  "  solid  reading."  He  delighted 
in  problems  of  navigation  (he  was  for  many 
years  the  master  of  a  merchant-vessel  sailing  to 
various  European  ports),  in  astronomical  calcula 
tions  and  historical  computations.  A  rhyming 
genius  in  the  town,  who  undertook  to  hit  off  the 
peculiarities  of  well-known  residents,  character 
ized  my  father  as 

"Philosophic  Ben, 
Who,  pointing  to  the  stars,  cries,  Land  ahead  !  " 

His  reserved,  abstracted  manner,  —  though  his 
gravity  concealed  a  fund  of  rare  humor,  —  kept 
us  children  somewhat  aloof  from  him  ;  but  my 
mother's  temperament  formed  a  complete  contrast 
to  his.  She  was  chatty  and  social,  rosy-cheeked 
and  dimpled,  with  bright  blue  eyes  and  soft,  dark, 
curling  hair,  which  she  kept  pinned  up  under  her 
white  lace  cap-border.  Not  even  the  eldest  child 
remembered  her  without  her  cap,  and  when  some 
of  us  asked  her  why  she  never  let  her  pretty  curls 
be  visible,  she  said,  — 

"  Your  father  liked  to  see  me  in  a  cap.  I  put 
it  on  soon  after  we  were  married,  to  please  him ; 


26  A  NEW  ENGLAND   GIRLHOOD. 

I  always  have  worn  it,  and  I  always  shall  wear  it| 
for  the  same  reason." 

My  mother  had  that  sort  of  sunshiny  nature 
which  easily  shifts  to  shadow,  like  the  atmosphere 
of  an  April  day.  Cheerfulness  held  sway  with 
her,  except  occasionally,  when  her  domestic  cares 
grew  too  overwhelming  ;  but  her  spirits  rebounded 
quickly  from  discouragement. 

Her  father  was  the  only  one  of  our  grandpar 
ents  who  had  survived  to  my  time,  —  of  French 
descent,  piquant,  merry,  exceedingly  polite,  and 
very  fond  of  us  children,  whom  he  was  always 
treating  to  raisins  and  peppermints  and  rules  for 
good  behavior.  He  had  been  a  soldier  in  the 
Revolutionary  War,  —  the  greatest  distinction  we 
could  imagine.  And  he  was  also  the  sexton  of 
the  oldest  church  in  town,  —  the  Old  South,  — — 
and  had  charge  of  the  winding-up  of  the  town 
clock,  and  the  ringing  of  the  bell  on  week-days 
and  Sundays,  and  the  tolling  for  funerals,  —  into 
which  mysteries  he  sometimes  allowed  us  young 
sters  a  furtive  glimpse.  I  did  not  believe  that 
there  was  another  grandfather  so  delightful  as 
ours  in  all  the  world. 

Uncles,  aunts,  and  cousins  were  plentiful  in  the 
family,  but  they  did  not  live  near  enough  for  us 
to  see  them  very  often,  excepting  one  aunt,  my 
father's  sister,  for  whom  I  was  named.  She  was 
fair,  with  large,  clear  eyes  that  seemed  to  look  far 
into  one's  heart,  with  an  expression  at  once  pene« 


UP  AND  DOWN  THE  LANE.  27 

trating  and  benignant.  To  my  childish  imagine 
tion  she  was  an  embodiment  of  serene  and  lofty 
goodness.  I  wished  and  hoped  that  by  bearing 
her  baptismal  name  I  might  become  like  her ; 
and  when  I  found  out  its  signification  (I  learned 
that  "Lucy"  means  "with  light"),  I  wished  it 
more  earnestly  still.  For  her  beautiful  character 
was  just  such  an  illumination  to  my  young  life 
as  I  should  most  desire  mine  to  be  to  the  lives  of 
others. 

My  aunt,  like  my  father,  was  always  studying 
something.  Some  map  or  book  always  lay  open 
before  her,  when  I  went  to  visit  her,  in  her  pic 
turesque  old  house,  with  its  sloping  roof  and  tall 
well-sweep.  And  she  always  brought  out  some 
book  or  picture  for  me  from  her  quaint  old-fash 
ioned  chest  of  drawers.  I  still  possess  the  "  Chil 
dren  in  the  Wood,"  which  she  gave  me,  as  a 
keepsake,  when  I  was  about  ten  years  old. 

Our  relatives  form  the  natural  setting  of  our 
childhood.  We  understand  ourselves  best  and 
are  best  understood  by  others  through  the  persons 
who  came  nearest  to  us  in  our  earliest  years. 
Those  larger  planets  held  our  little  one  to  its 
orbit,  and  lent  it  their  brightness.  Happy  indeed 
is  the  infancy  which  is  surrounded  only  by  the 
loving  and  the  good  ! 

Besides  those  who  were  of  my  kindred,  I  had 
several  aunts  by  courtesy,  or  rather  by  the  privi 
lege  of  neighborhood,  who  seemed  to  belong  to 


28  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

my  babyhood.  Indeed,  the  family  hearthstone 
came  near  being  the  scene  of  a  tragedy  to  me, 
through  the  blind  fondness  of  one  of  these. 

The  adjective  is  literal.  This  dear  old  lady, 
almost  sightless,  sitting  in  a  low  chair  far  in  the 
chimney  corner,  where  she  had  been  placed  on  her 
first  call  to  see  the  new  baby,  took  me  upon  her 
lap,  and  —  so  they  say  —  unconsciously  let  me 
slip  off  into  the  coals.  I  was  rescued  unsinged, 
however,  and  it  was  one  of  the  earliest  accom 
plishments  of  my  infancy  to  thread  my  poor,  half- 
blind  Aunt  Stanley's  needles  for  her.  We  were 
close  neighbors  and  gossips  until  my  fourth  year. 
Many  an  hour  I  sat  by  her  side  drawing  a  needle 
and  thread  through  a  bit  of  calico,  under  the  de 
lusion  that  I  was  sewing,  while  she  repeated  all 
sorts  of  juvenile  sing-song,  of  which  her  memory 
seemed  full,  for  my  entertainment.  There  used  to 
be  a  legend  current  among  my  brothers  and  sis 
ters  that  this  aunt  unwittingly  taught  me  to  use 
a  reprehensible  word.  One  of  her  ditties  began 
with  the  lines  :  — 

"  Miss  Lucy  was  a  charming  child ; 
She  never  said,  *  I  won't.'  " 

After  hearing  this  once  or  twice,  the  willful  nega 
tive  was  continually  upon  my  lips ;  doubtless  a 
symptom  of  what  was  dormant  within  —  a  will 
perhaps  not  quite  so  aggressive  as  it  was  obstinate. 
But  she  meant  only  to  praise  me  and  please  me ; 


UP  AND  DOWN  THE  LANE.  29 

and  dearly  I  loved  to  stay  with  her  in  her  cozy 
up-stairs  room  across  the  lane,  that  the  sun  looked 
into  nearly  all  day. 

Another  adopted  aunt  lived  down-stairs  in  the 
same  house.  This  one  was  a  sober  woman ;  life 
meant  business  to  her,  and  she  taught  me  to  sew 
in  earnest,  with  a  knot  in  the  end  of  my  thread, 
although  it  was  only  upon  clothing  for  my  rag- 
children  —  absurd  creatures  of  my  own  invention, 
limbless  and  destitute  of  features,  except  as  now 
and  then  one  of  my  older  sisters  would,  upon  my 
earnest  petition,  outline  a  face  for  one  of  them, 
with  pen  and  ink.  I  loved  them,  nevertheless, 
far  better  than  I  did  the  London  doll  that  lay  in 
waxen  state  in  an  upper  drawer  at  home,  —  the 
fine  lady  that  did  not  wish  to  be  played  with, 
but  only  to  be  looked  at  and  admired. 

This  latter  aunt  I  regarded  as  a  woman  of  great 
possessions.  She  owned  the  land  beside  us  and 
opposite  us.  Her  well  was  close  to  our  door,  — 
a  well  of  the  coldest  and  clearest  water  I  ever 
drank,  and  it  abundantly  supplied  the  whole 
neighborhood. 

The  hill  behind  her  house  was  our  general 
playground ;  and  I  supposed  she  owned  that,  too, 
since  through  her  dooryard,  and  over  her  stone 
wall,  was  our  permitted  thoroughfare  thither.  I 
imagined  that  those  were  her  buttercups  that  we 
gathered  when  we  got  over  the  wall,  and  held  un 
der  each  other's  chin,  to  see,  by  the  reflection,  who 


30  A  NEW  ENGLAND   GIRLHOOD. 

was  fond  of  butter ;  and  surely  the  yellow  toad 
flax  (we  called  it  "  lady's  slipper  ")  that  grew  in 
the  rock-crevices  was  hers,  for  we  found  it  no 
where  else. 

The  blue  gill-over-the-ground  unmistakably  be 
longed  to  her,  for  it  carpeted  an  unused  trian 
gular  corner  of  her  garden  inclosed  by  a  leaning 
fence  gray  and  gold  with  sea-side  lichens.  Its 
blue  was  beautiful,  but  its  pungent  earthy  odor  — 
I  can  smell  it  now  —  repelled  us  from  the  damp 
corner  where  it  grew.  It  made  us  think  of  graves 
and  ghosts ;  and  I  think  we  were  forbidden  to  go 
there.  We  much  preferred  to  sit  on  the  sunken 
curbstones,  in  the  shade  of  the  broad-leaved  bur 
docks,  and  shape  their  spiny  balls  into  chairs  and 
cradles  and  sofas  for  our  dollies,  or  to  "  play 
school "  on  the  doorsteps,  or  to  climb  over  the 
wall,  and  feel  the  freedom  of  the  hill. 

We  were  a  neighborhood  of  large  families,  and 
most  of  us  enjoyed  the  privilege  of  "  a  little  whole 
some  neglect."  Our  tether  was  a  long  one,  and 
when,  grown  a  little  older,  we  occasionally  asked 
to  have  it  lengthened,  a  maternal  "  I  don't  care  " 
amounted  to  almost  unlimited  liberty. 

The  hill  itself  was  well-nigh  boundless  in  its 
capacities  for  juvenile  occupation.  Besides  its 
miniature  precipices,  that  walled  in  some  of  the 
neighbors'  gardens,  and  its  slanting  slides,  worn 
smooth  by  the  feet  of  many  childish  generations, 
there  were  partly  quarried  ledges,  which  had 


UP  AND  DOWN  TEE  LANE.  31 

shaped  themselves  into  rock-stairs,  carpeted  with 
lovely  mosses,  in  various  patterns.  These  were 
the  winding  ways  up  our  castle-towers,  with  break 
fast-rooms  and  boudoirs  along  the  landings,  where 
we  set  our  tables  for  expected  guests  with  bits  of 
broken  china,  and  left  our  numerous  rag-children 
tucked  in  asleep  under  mullein-blankets  or  plan 
tain-coverlets,  while  we  ascended  to  the  topmost 
turret  to  watch  for  our  ships  coming  in  from 


For  leagues  of  ocean  were  visible  from  the  tip 
top  of  the  ledge,  a  tiny  cleft  peak  that  held  always 
a  little  rain-pool  for  thirsty  birds  that  now  and 
then  stopped  as  they  flew  over,  to  dip  their  beaks 
and  glance  shyly  at  us,  as  if  they  wished  to  share 
our  games.  We  could  see  the  steeples  and  smokes 
of  Salem  in  the  distance,  and  the  hill,  as  it  de 
scended,  lost  itself  in  mowing  fields  that  slid  again 
into  the  river.  Beyond  that  was  Rial  Side  and 
Folly  Hill,  and  they  looked  so  very  far  off  ! 

They  called  it  "over  to  Green's"  across  the 
river.  I  thought  it  was  because  of  the  thick 
growth  of  dark  green  junipers,  that  covered  the 
cliff-side  down  to  the  water's  edge  ;  but  they  were 
only  giving  the  name  of  the  farmer  who  owned  the 
land.  Whenever  there  was  an  unusual  barking 
of  dogs  in  the  distance,  they  said  it  was  "  over  to 
Green's."  That  barking  of  dogs  made  the  place 
seem  very  mysterious  to  me. 

Our  lane  ran  parallel  with  the  hill  and  the 


82  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

mowing  fields,  and  down  our  lane  we  were  always 
free  to  go.  It  was  a  genuine  lane,  all  ups  and 
downs,  and  too  narrow  for  a  street,  although  at 
last  they  have  leveled  it  and  widened  it,  and  made 
a  commonplace  thoroughfare  of  it.  I  am  glad 
that  my  baby  life  knew  it  in  all  its  queer,  original 
irregularities,  for  it  seemed  to  have  a  character  of 
its  own,  like  many  of  its  inhabitants,  all  the  more 
charming  because  it  was  unlike  anything  but  it 
self.  The  hill,  too,  is  lost  now,  buried  under 
houses. 

Our  lane  came  to  an  end  at  some  bars  that  let 
us  into  another  lane,  —  or  rather  a  footpath  or 
cowpath,  bordered  with  cornfields  and  orchards. 
We  were  still  on  home  ground,  for  my  father's 
vegetable  garden  and  orchard  were  here.  After 
a  long  straight  stretch,  the  path  suddenly  took  an 
abrupt  turn,  widening  into  a  cart  road,  then  to  a 
tumble-down  wharf,  and  there  was  the  river ! 

An  "  arm  of  the  sea"  I  was  told  that  our  river 
was,  and  it  did  seem  to  reach  around  the  town 
and  hold  it  in  a  liquid  embrace.  Twice  a  day  the 
tide  came  in  and  filled  its  muddy  bed  with  a 
sparkling  flood.  So  it  was  a  river  only  half  the 
time,  but  at  high  tide  it  was  a  river  indeed ;  all 
that  a  child  could  wish,  with  its  boats  and  its 
sloops,  and  now  and  then  that  most  available 
craft  for  a  crew  of  children  —  a  gundalow.  We 
easily  transformed  the  spelling  into  "gondola," 
and  in  fancy  were  afloat  on  Venetian  waters,  un- 


UP  AND  DOWN  THE  LANE.  33 

ier  some  overhanging  balcony,  perhaps  at  the 
very  Palace  of  the  Doges,  • —  willingly  blind  to 
the  reality  of  a  mudscow  leaning  against  some 
rickety  wharf  posts,  covered  with  barnacles. 

Sometimes  a  neighbor  boy  who  was  the  fortunate 
owner  of  a  boat  would  row  us  down  the  river  — 
a  fearful,  because  a  forbidden,  joy.  The  widening 
waters  made  us  tremble  with  dread  and  longing 
for  what  might  be  beyond;  for  when  we  had 
passed  under  the  piers  of  the  bridge,  the  estuary 
broadened  into  the  harbor  and  the  open  sea. 
Then  somebody  on  board  would  tell  a  story  of 
children  who  had  drifted  away  beyond  the  har 
bor-bar  and  the  light-house,  and  were  drowned  $ 
and  our  boyish  helmsman  would  begin  to  look 
grave  and  anxious,  and  would  turn  his  boat  and 
row  us  back  swiftly  to  the  safe  gundalow  and 
tumbledown  wharf. 

The  cars  rush  into  the  station  now,  right  over 
our  riverside  playground.  I  can  often  hear  the 
mirthful  shout  of  boys  and  girls  under  the  shriek 
of  the  steam  whistle.  No  dream  of  a  railroad 
had  then  corne  to  the  quiet  old  town,  but  it  was  a 
wild  train  of  children  that  ran  homeward  in  the 
twilight  up  the  narrow  lane,  with  wind-shod  feet, 
and  hair  flying  like  the  manes  of  young  colts,  and 
light  hearts  bounding  to  their  own  footsteps.  How 
good  and  dear  our  plain,  two-story  dwelling-house 
looked  to  us  as  we  came  in  sight  of  it,  and  what 
sweet  odors  stole  out  to  meet  us  from  the  white- 


84  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

fenced  inclosure  of  our  small  garden, —  from 
peach-trees  and  lilac-bushes  in  bloom,  from  ber- 
gamot  and  balm  and  beds  of  camomile  I 

Sometimes  we  would  find  the  pathetic  figure  of 
white-haired  Larkin  Moore,  the  insane  preacher, 
his  two  canes  laid  aside,  waiting  in  our  dooryard 
for  any  audience  that  he  could  gather  :  boys  and 
girls  were  as  welcome  as  anybody.  He  would 
seat  us  in  a  row  on  the  green  slope,  and  give  us 
a  half  hour  or  so  of  incoherent  exhortation,  to 
which  we  attended  respectfully,  if  not  reverently ; 
for  his  whole  manner  showed  that,  though  de 
mented,  he  was  deeply  in  earnest.  He  seemed 
there  in  the  twilight  like  a  dazed  angel  who  had 
lost  his  way,  and  had  half  forgotten  his  errand, 
which  yet  he  must  try  to  tell  to  anybody  who 
would  listen. 

I  have  heard  my  mother  say  that  sometimes 
he  would  ask  if  he  might  take  her  baby  in  his 
arms  and  sing  to  it ;  and  that  though  she  was  half 
afraid  herself,  the  baby  —  I  like  to  fancy  I  was 
that  baby  —  seemed  to  enjoy  it,  and  played  glee 
fully  with  the  old  man's  flowing  gray  locks. 

Good  Larkin  Moore  was  well  known  through 
the  two  neighboring  counties,  Essex  and  Middle 
sex.  We  saw  him  afterwards  on  the  banks  of  the 
Merrimack.  He  always  wore  a  loose  calico  tunic 
over  his  trousers ;  and,  when  the  mood  came  upon 
him,  he  started  off  with  two  canes,  —  seeming  to 
think  he  could  travel  faster  as  a  quadruped  than 


UP  AND  DOWN  THE  LANE.  85 

as  a  biped.  He  was  entirely  harmless ;  his  only 
wish  was  to  preach  or  to  sing. 

A  characteristic  anecdote  used  to  be  told  of 
him :  that  once,  as  a  stage-coach  containing  only 
a  few  passengers  passed  him  on  the  road,  he  asked 
the  favor  of  a  seat  on  the  top,  and  was  refused. 
There  were  many  miles  between  him  and  his  des 
tination.  But  he  did  not  upbraid  the  ungracious 
driver  ;  he  only  swung  his  two  canes  a  little  more 
briskly,  and  kept  abreast  of  the  horses  all  the 
way,  entering  the  town  side  by  side  with  the 
inhospitable  vehicle  —  a  running  reproach  to  the 
churl  on  the  box. 

There  was  another  wanderer,  a  blind  woman, 
whom  my  mother  treated  with  great  respect  on 
her  annual  pilgrimages.  She  brought  with  her 
some  printed  rhymes  to  sell,  purporting  to  be  com 
posed  by  herself,  and  beginning  with  the  verse :— 

"  I,  Nancy  Welch,  was  born  and  bred 
In  Essex  County,  Marblehead. 
And  when  I  was  an  infant  quite 
The  Lord  deprived  me  of  my  sight." 

I  labored  under  the  delusion  that  blindness  was 
a  sort  of  insanity,  and  I  used  to  run  away  when 
this  pilgrim  came,  for  she  was  not  talkative,  like 
Larkin  Moore.  I  fancied  she  disliked  children, 
and  so  I  shrank  from  her. 

There  were  other  odd  estrays  going  about,  who 
were  either  well  known,  or  could  account  for  them 
selves.  The  one  human  phenomenon  that  filled 


36  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

us  little  ones  with  mortal  terror  was  an  unknown 
"  man  with  a  pack  on  his  back.'*  I  do  not  know 
what  we  thought  he  would  do  with  us,  but  the 
sight  of  one  always  sent  us  breathless  with  fright 
to  the  shelter  of  the  maternal  wing.  I  did  not  at 
all  like  the  picture  of  Christian  on  his  way  to  the 
wicket-gate,  in  "  Pilgrim's  Progress,"  before  I  had 
read  the  book,  because  he  had  "  a  pack  on  his 
back."  But  there  was  really  nothing  to  be  afraid 
of  in  those  simple,  honest  old  times.  I  suppose 
we  children  would  not  have  known  how  happy 
and  safe  we  were,  in  our  secluded  lane,  if  we  had 
not  conjured  up  a  few  imaginary  fears. 

Long  as  it  is  since  the  rural  features  of  our 
lane  were  entirely  obliterated,  my  feet  often  go 
back  and  press,  in  memory,  its  grass-grown  bor 
ders,  and  in  delight  and  liberty  I  am  a  child 
again.  Its  narrow  limits  were  once  my  whole 
known  world.  Even  then  it  seemed  to  me  as  if 
it  might  lead  everywhere  ;  and  it  was  indeed  but 
the  beginning  of  a  road  which  must  lengthen  and 
widen  beneath  my  feet  forever. 


n. 

SCHOOLROOM  AND  MEETING-HOUSE. 

THERE  were  only  two  or  three  houses  between 
ours  and  the  main  street,  and  then  our  lane  came 
out  directly  opposite  the  finest  house  in  town,  a 
three -story  edifice  of  brick,  painted  white,  the 
"  Colonel's "  residence.  There  was  a  spacious 
garden  behind  it,  from  which  we  caught  glimpses 
and  perfumes  of  unknown  flowers.  Over  its  high 
walls  hung  boughs  of  splendid  great  yellow  sweet 
apples,  which,  when  they  fell  on  the  outside,  we 
children  considered  as  our  perquisites.  When  I 
first  read  about  the  apples  of  the  Hesperides,  my 
idea  of  them  was  that  they  were  like  the  Colo 
nel's  "  pumpkin-sweetings." 

Beyond  the  garden  were  wide  green  fields 
which  reached  eastward  down  to  the  beach.  It 
was  one  of  those  large  old  estates  which  used  to 
give  to  the  very  heart  of  our  New  England  coast- 
towns  a  delightful  breeziness  and  roominess. 

A  coach-and-pair  was  one  of  the  appurtenances 
of  this  estate,  with  a  coachman  on  the  box ;  and 
when  he  took  the  family  out  for  an  airing  we 
small  children  thought  it  was  a  sort  of  Cinderella- 
spectacle,  prepared  expressly  for  us. 


88  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

It  was  not,  however,  quite  so  interesting  as  the 
Boston  stage-coach,  that  rolled  regularly  every 
day  past  the  head  of  our  lane  into  and  out  of  its 
head  -  quarters,  a  big,  unpainted  stable  close  at 
hand.  This  stage-coach,  in  our  minds,  meant  the 
city,  —  twenty  miles  off ;  an  immeasurable  dis 
tance  to  us  then.  Even  our  elders  did  not  go 
there  very  often. 

In  those  early  days,  towns  used  to  give  each 
other  nicknames,  like  school-boys.  Ours  was  called 
"  Bean-town  "  ;  not  because  it  was  especially  de 
voted  to  the  cultivation  of  this  leguminous  edible, 
but  probably  because  it  adhered  a  long  time  to 
the  Puritanic  custom  of  saving  Sunday-work  by 
baking  beans  on  Saturday  evening,  leaving  them 
in  the  oven  over  night.  After  a  while,  as  fami 
lies  left  off  heating  their  ovens,  the  bean -pots 
were  taken  by  the  village  baker  on  Saturday  af» 
ternoon,  who  returned  them  to  each  house  early 
on  Sunday  morning,  with  the  pan  of  brown 
bread  that  went  with  them.  The  jingling  of  the 
baker's  bells  made  the  matter  a  public  one. 

The  towns  through  which  our  stage-coach 
passed  sometimes  called  it  the  "  bean-pot."  The 
Jehu  who  drove  it  was  something  of  a  wag. 
Once,  coming  through  Charlestown,  while  waiting 
in  the  street  for  a  resident  passenger,  he  was 
hailed  by  another  resident  who  thought  him  ob 
structing  the  passage,  with  the  shout,  — 

"  Halloo  there !  Get  your  old  bean-pot  out  of 
the  way  1" 


SCHOOLROOM  AND  MEETING-HOUSE.      39 

"  I  will,  when  I  have  got  my  pork  in,"  was  the 
ready  reply.  What  the  sobriquet  of  Charlestown 
was,  need  not  be  explained. 

We  had  a  good  opportunity  to  watch  both 
coaches,  as  my  father's  shop  was  just  at  the  head 
of  the  lane,  and  we  went  to  school  up-stairs  in 
the  same  building.  After  he  left  off  going  to  sea, 
—  before  my  birth,  —  my  father  took  a  store  for 
the  sale  of  what  used  to  be  called  "  West  India 
goods,"  and  various  other  domestic  commodities. 

The  school  was  kept  by  a  neighbor  whom 
everybody  called  "  Aunt  Hannah."  It  took  in  all 
the  little  ones  about  us,  no  matter  how  young 
they  were,  provided  they  could  walk  and  talk,  and 
were  considered  capable  of  learning  their  letters. 

A  ladder-like  flight  of  stairs  on  the  outside  of 
the  house  led  up  to  the  schoolroom,  and  another 
flight,  also  outside,  took  us  down  into  a  bit  of  a 
garden,  where  grew  tansy  and  spearmint  and 
southernwood  and  wormwood,  and,  among  other 
old-fashioned  flowers,  an  abundance  of  many- 
tinted  four  o'clocks,  whose  regular  afternoon- 
opening  just  at  the  close  of  school,  was  a  daily 
wonder  to  us  babies.  From  the  schoolroom  win 
dow  we  could  watch  the  slow  hands  of  the  town 
clock,  and  get  a  peep  at  what  was  going  on  in 
the  street,  although  there  was  seldom  anybody  in 
sight  except  the  Colonel's  gardener  or  coachman, 
going  into  or  out  of  the  driveway  directly  op« 
posite.  It  was  a  very  still  street ;  the  front  win- 


40  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

dows  of  the  houses  were  generally  closed,  and  a 
few  military-looking  Lombardy  poplars  stood  like 
sentinels  on  guard  before  them. 

Another  shop  —  a  very  small  one  —  joined  my 
father's,  where  three  shoemakers,  all  of  the  same 
name  —  the  name  our  lane  went  by  —  sat  at  their 
benches  and  plied  their  "  waxed  ends."  One  of 
them,  an  elderly  man,  tall  and  erect,  used  to  come 
out  regularly  every  day,  and  stand  for  a  long  time 
at  the  corner,  motionless  as  a  post,  with  his  nose 
and  chin  pointing  skyward,  usually  to  the  north 
east.  I  watched  his  face  with  wonder,  for  it  was 
said  that  "  Uncle  John  "  was  "  weatherwise,"  and 
knew  all  the  secrets  of  the  heavens. 

Aunt  Hannah's  schoolroom  and  "  our  shop  " 
are  a  blended  memory  to  me.  As  I  was  only  a 
baby  when  I  began  to  go  to  school,  I  was  often 
sent  down-stairs  for  a  half  hour's  recreation  not 
permitted  to  the  older  ones.  I  think  I  looked 
upon  both  school  and  shop  entirely  as  places  of 
entertainment  for  little  children. 

The  front  shop-window  was  especially  interest 
ing  to  us  children,  for  there  were  in  it  a  few  glass 
jars  containing  sticks  of  striped  barley-candy,  and 
red  and  white  peppermint-drops,  and  that  delect 
able  achievement  of  the  ancient  confectioner's 
art,  the  "  Salem  gibraltar."  One  of  my  first  rec 
ollections  of  my  father  is  connected  with  that  win« 
dow.  He  had  taken  me  into  the  shop  with  him 
after  dinner,  —  I  was  perhaps  two  years  old,  — 


SCHOOL-ROOM  AND  MEETING-HOUSE.      41 

and  I  was  playing  beside  him  on  the  counter 
when  one  of  his  old  sea-comrades  came  in,  whom 
we  knew  as  "  Captain  Cross."  The  Captain  tried 
to  make  friends  with  me,  and,  to  seal  the  bond, 
asked  my  father  to  take  down  from  its  place  of 
exhibition  a  strip  of  red  peppermints  dropped  on 
white  paper,  in  a  style  I  particularly  admired, 
which  he  twisted  around  my  neck,  saying,  — 

"  Now  I  've  bought  you !  Now  you  are  my 
girl.  Come,  go  home  with  me  ! " 

His  words  sounded  as  if  he  meant  them.  I 
took  it  all  in  earnest,  and  ran,  scared  and  scream 
ing,  to  my  father,  dashing  down  the  sugar-plumg 
I  wanted  so  much,  and  refusing  even  to  bestow  a 
glance  upon  my  amused  purchaser.  My  father 
pacified  me  by  taking  me  on  his  shoulders  and 
carrying  me  "  pickaback  "  up  and  down  the  shop, 
and  I  clung  to  him  in  the  happy  consciousness 
that  I  belonged  to  him,  and  that  he  would  not  let 
anybody  else  have  me ;  though  I  did  not  feel 
quite  easy  until  Captain  Cross  disappeared.  I 
suppose  that  this  little  incident  has  always  re 
mained  in  my  memory  because  it  then  for  the 
first  time  became  a  fact  in  my  consciousness  that 
my  father  really  loved  me  as  I  loved  him.  He 
was  not  at  all  a  demonstrative  man,  and  any  pet 
ting  that  he  gave  us  children  could  not  fail  to 
make  a  permanent  impression. 

I  think  that  must  have  been  also  the  last  spe 
cial  attention  I  received  from  him,  for  a  little 


42  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

sister  appeared  soon  after,  whose  coming  was 
announced  to  me  with  the  accompaniment  of  cer 
tain  mysterious  hints  about  my  nose  being  out  of 
joint.  I  examined  that  feature  carefully  in  the 
looking-glass,  but  could  not  discover  anything  un 
usual  about  it.  It  was  quite  beyond  me  to  imag 
ine  that  our  innocent  little  baby  could  have  any 
thing  to  do  with  the  possible  disfigurement  of  my 
face,  but  she  did  absorb  the  fondness  of  the  whole 
family,  myself  included,  and  she  became  my  fa 
ther's  playmate  and  darling,  the  very  apple  of  his 
eye.  I  used  sometimes  to  wish  I  were  a  baby  tooi> 
so  that  he  would  notice  me,  but  gradually  I  ac 
cepted  the  situation. 

Aunt  Hannah  used  her  kitchen  or  her  sitting- 
room  for  a  schoolroom,  as  best  suited  her  conven 
ience.  We  were  delighted  observers  of  her  culi 
nary  operations  and  other  employments.  If  a 
baby's  head  nodded,  a  little  bed  was  made  for  it 
on  a  soft  "  comforter  "  in  the  corner,  where  it  had 
its  nap  out  undisturbed.  But  this  did  not  often 
happen;  there  were  so  many  interesting  things 
going  on  that  we  seldom  became  sleepy. 

Aunt  Hannah  was  very  kind  and  motherly,  but 
she  kept  us  in  fear  of  her  ferule,  which  indicated 
to  us  a  possibility  of  smarting  palms.  This  ferule 
was  shaped  much  like  the  stick  with  which  she 
stirred  her  hasty  pudding  for  dinner,  —  I  thought 
it  was  the  same,  —  and  I  found  myself  caught  in 
a  whirlwind  of  family  laughter  by  reporting  at 


SCHOOLROOM  AND  MEETING-HOUSE.      43 

home  that  "  Aunt  Hannah  punished  the  scholars 
with  the  pudding-stick." 

There  was  one  colored  boy  in  school,  who  did 
not  sit  on  a  bench,  like  the  rest,  but  on  a  block  of 
wood  that  looked  like  a  backlog  turned  endwise. 
Aunt  Hannah  often  called  him  a  "  blockhead," 
and  I  supposed  it  was  because  he  sat  on  that  block. 
Sometimes,  in  his  absence,  a  boy  was  made  to  sit 
in  his  place  for  punishment,  for  being  a  "  block 
head  "  too,  as  I  imagined.  I  hoped  I  should  never 
be  put  there.  Stupid  little  girls  received  a  dif 
ferent  treatment,  —  an  occasional  rap  on  the  head 
with  the  teacher's  thimble;  accompanied  with 
a  half  -  whispered,  impatient  ejaculation,  which 
sounded  very  much  like  "  Numskull !  "  I  think 
this  was  a  rare  occurrence,  however,  for  she  was 
a  good-natured,  much-enduring  woman. 

One  of  our  greatest  school  pleasures  was  to 
watch  Aunt  Hannah  spinning  on  her  flax-wheel, 
wetting  her  thumb  and  forefinger  at  her  lips  to 
twist  the  thread,  keeping  time,  meanwhile,  to  some 
quaint  old  tune  with  her  foot  upon  the  treadle. 

A  verse  of  one  of  her  hymns,  which  I  never 
heard  anybody  else  sing,  resounds  in  the  farthest 
corner  of  my  memory  yet :  — 

"  Whither  goest  thou,  pilgrim  stranger, 

Wandering  through  this  lowly  vale  ? 
Knowest  thou  not  't  is  full  of  danger? 
And  will  not  thy  courage  fail  ?  " 

Then  a  little  pause,  and  the  refrain  of  the  answer 


44  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

broke  in  with  a  change,  quick  and  jubilant,  the 
treadle  moving  more  rapidly,  also :  — 

"  No,  I  'm  bound  for  the  kingdom  I 
Will  you  go  to  glory  with  me  ? 
Hallelujah  I     Praise  the  Lord !  " 

I  began  to  go  to  school  when  I  was  about  two 
years  old,  as  other  children  about  us  did.  The 
mothers  of  those  large  families  had  to  resort  to 
some  means  of  keeping  their  little  ones  out  of 
mischief,  while  they  attended  to  their  domestic  du 
ties.  Not  much  more  than  that  sort  of  temporary 
guardianship  was  expected  of  the  good  dame  who 
had  us  in  charge. 

But  I  learned  my  letters  in  a  few  days,  stand 
ing  at  Aunt  Hannah's  knee  while  she  pointed 
them  out  in  the  spelling-book  with  a  pin,  skipping 
over  the  "  a  b  abs  "  into  words  of  one  and  two  syl 
lables,  thence  taking  a  flying  leap  into  the  New 
Testament,  in  which  there  is  concurrent  family 
testimony  that  I  was  reading  at  the  age  of  two 
years  and  a  half.  Certain  it  is  that  a  few  pas 
sages  in  the  Bible,  whenever  I  read  them  now, 
do  not  fail  to  bring  before  me  a  vision  of  Aunt 
Hannah's  somewhat  sternly  smiling  lips,  with  her 
spectacles  just  above  them,  far  down  on  her  nose, 
encouraging  me  to  pronounce  the  hard  words.  I 
think  she  tried  to  choose  for  me  the  least  difficult 
verses,  or  perhaps  those  of  which  she  was  her 
self  especially  fond.  Those  which  I  distinctly  re* 
call  are  the  Beatitudes,  the  Twenty-third  Psalm, 


SCHOOLROOM  AND  MEETING-HOUSE.      45 

parts  of  the  first  and  fourteenth  chapters  of  the 
Gospel  of  St.  John,  and  the  thirteenth  chapter 
of  the  First  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians. 

I  liked  to  say  over  the  "  Blesseds,"  —  the  short 
est  ones  best,  —  about  the  meek  and  the  pure  in 
heart ;  and  the  two  "  In  the  beginnings,"  both  in 
Genesis  and  John.  Every  child's  earliest  and 
proudest  Scriptural  conquest  in  school  was,  al 
most  as  a  matter  of  course,  the  first  verse  in  the 
Bible. 

But  the  passage  which  I  learned  first,  and  most 
delighted  to  repeat  after  Aunt  Hannah,  —  I  think 
it  must  have  been  her  favorite  too,  —  was,  "  Let 
not  your  heart  be  troubled.  In  my  Father's  house 
are  many  mansions." 

The  Voice  in  the  Book  seemed  so  tender !  Some 
body  was  speaking  who  had  a  heart,  and  who 
knew  that  even  a  little  child's  heart  was  some 
times  troubled.  And  it  was  a  Voice  that  called 
us  somewhere;  to  the  Father's  house,  with  its 
many  mansions,  so  sunshiny  and  so  large. 

It  was  a  beautiful  vision  that  came  to  me  with 
the  words,  —  I  could  see  it  best  with  my  eyes 
shut,  —  a  great,  dim  Door  standing  ajar,  opening 
out  of  rosy  morning  mists,  overhung  with  swaying 
vines  and  arching  boughs  that  were  full  of  birds  ; 
and  from  beyond  the  Door,  the  ripple  of  running 
waters,  and  the  sound  of  many  happy  voices,  and 
above  them  all  the  One  Voice  that  was  saying,  "  1 
go  to  prepare  a  place  for  you."  The  vision  gave 


46  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

me  a  sense  of  freedom,  fearless  and  infinite. 
What  was  there  to  be  afraid  of  anywhere  ?  Even 
we  little  children  could  see  the  open  door  of  our 
Father's  house.  "We  were  playing  around  its 
threshold  now,  and  we  need  never  wander  out  of 
sight  of  it.  The  feeling  was  a  vague  one,  but  it 
was  like  a  remembrance.  The  spacious  mansions 
were  not  far  away.  They  were  my  home.  I  had 
known  them,  and  should  return  to  them  again. 

This  dim  half-memory,  which  perhaps  comes  to 
all  children,  I  had  felt  when  younger  still,  al 
most  before  I  could  walk.  Sitting  on  the  floor 
in  a  square  of  sunshine  made  by  an  open  window, 
the  leaf-shadows  from  great  boughs  outside  dan 
cing  and  wavering  around  me,  I  seemed  to  be 
talking  to  them  and  they  to  me  in  unknown 
tongues,  that  left  within  me  an  ecstasy  yet  unfor- 
gotten.  Those  shadows  had  brought  a  message 
to  me  from  an  unseen  Somewhere,  which  my 
baby  heart  was  to  keep  forever.  The  wonder  of 
that  moment  often  returns.  Shadow-traceries  of 
bough  and  leaf  still  seem  to  me  like  the  hiero 
glyphics  of  a  lost  language. 

The  stars  brought  me  the  same  feeling.  I  re 
member  the  surprise  they  were  to  me,  seen  for  the 
first  time.  One  evening,  just  before  I  was  put  to 
bed,  I  was  taken  in  somebody's  arms  —  my  sis 
ter's,  I  think  —  outside  the  door,  and  lifted  up 
under  the  dark,  still,  clear  sky,  splendid  with 
stars,  thicker  and  nearer  earth  than  they  have 


SCHOOLROOM  AND  MEETING-HOUSE.      47 

ever  seemed  since.  All  my  little  being  shaped  it 
self  into  a  subdued,  delighted  "  Oh !  "  And  then 
the  exultant  thought  flitted  through  the  mind  of 
the  reluctant  child,  as  she  was  carried  in,  "  Why, 
that  is  the  roof  of  the  house  I  live  in."  After 
that  I  always  went  to  sleep  happier  for  the  feel 
ing  that  the  stars  were  outside  there  in  the  dark, 
though  I  could  not  see  them. 

I  did  firmly  believe  that  I  came  from  some 
other  country  to  this ;  I  had  a  vague  notion  that 
we  were  all  here  on  a  journey,  —  that  this  was 
not  the  place  where  we  really  belonged.  Some  of 
the  family  have  told  me  that  before  I  could  talk 
plainly,  I  used  to  run  about  humming  the  sen 
tence — 

"  My  father  and  mother 
Shall  come  unto  the  land," 

sometimes  varying  it  with,  — 

"  My  brothers  and  sisters 
Shall  come  unto  the  land ;  " 

Nobody  knew  where  I  had  caught  the  words, 
but  I  chanted  them  so  constantly  that  my  brother 
wrote  them  down,  with  chalk,  on  the  under  side 
of  a  table,  where  they  remained  for  years.  My 
thought  about  that  other  land  may  have  been 
only  a  baby's  dream;  but  the  dream  was  very 
real  to  me.  I  used  to  talk,  in  sober  earnest, 
about  what  happened  "  before  I  was  a  little  girl, 
and  came  here  to  live  " ;  and  it  did  seem  to  me 
as  if  I  remembered. 


48  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

But  I  was  hearty  and  robust,  full  of  frolicsome 
health,  and  very  fond  of  the  matter-of-fact  world 
I  lived  in.  My  sturdy  little  feet  felt  the  solid 
earth  beneath  them.  I  grew  with  the  sprouting 
grass,  and  enjoyed  my  life  as  the  buds  and  birds 
seemed  to  enjoy  theirs.  It  was  only  as  if  the  bud 
and  the  bird  and  the  dear  warm  earth  knew,  in 
the  same  dumb  way  that  I  did,  that  all  their  joy 
and  sweetness  came  to  them  out  of  the  sky. 

These  recollections,  that  so  distinctly  belong 
to  the  baby  Myself,  before  she  could  speak  her 
thoughts,  though  clear  and  vivid,  are  difficult  to 
put  into  shape.  But  other  grown-up  children, 
in  looking  back,  will  doubtless  see  many  a  trail 
ing  cloud  of  glory,  that  lighted  their  unconscious 
infancy  from  within  and  from  beyond. 

I  was  quite  as  literal  as  I  was  visionary  in  my 
mental  renderings  of  the  New  Testament,  read  at 
Aunt  Hannah's  knee.  I  was  much  taken  with 
the  sound  of  words,  without  any  thought  of  their 
meaning  —  a  habit  not  always  outgrown  with 
childhood.  The  "sounding  brass  and  tinkling 
cymbals,"  for  instance,  in  the  Epistle  to  the  Corin 
thians,  seemed  to  me  things  to  be  greatly  desired. 
"  Charity  "  was  an  abstract  idea.  I  did  not  know 
what  it  meant.  But  "  tinkling  cymbals  "  one  could 
make  music  with.  I  wished  I  could  get  hold  of 
them.  It  never  occurred  to  me  that  the  Apostle 
meant  to  speak  of  their  melody  slightingly. 

At  meeting,  where  I  began  to  go  also  at  two 


SCHOOLROOM  AND  MEETING-HOUSE.      49 

years  of  age,  I  made  my  own  private  interpreta 
tions  of  the  Bible  readings.  They  were  absurd 
enough,  but  after  getting  laughed  at  a  few  times 
at  home  for  making  them  public,  I  escaped  morti 
fication  by  forming  a  habit  of  great  reserve  as  to 
my  Sabbath-day  thoughts. 

When  the  minister  read,  "  Cut  it  down :  why 
cumbereth  it  the  ground  ?  "  I  thought  he  meant  to 
say  "  cu-cumbereth."  These  vegetables  grew  on 
the  ground,  and  I  had  heard  that  they  were  not 
very  good  for  people  to  eat.  I  honestly  supposed 
that  the  New  Testament  forbade  the  cultivation 
of  cucumbers. 

And  "  Galilee  "  I  understood  as  a  mispronun 
ciation  of  "  gallery."  "  Going  up  into  Galilee  " 
I  interpreted  into  clattering  up  the  uncarpeted 
stairs  in  the  meeting-house  porch,  as  the  boys  did, 
with  their  squeaking  brogans,  looking  as  restless 
as  imprisoned  monkeys  after  they  had  got  into 
those  conspicuous  seats,  where  they  behaved  as  if 
they  thought  nobody  could  see  their  pranks.  I 
did  not  think  it  could  be  at  all  nice  to  "  go  up 
into  Galilee." 

I  had  an  "  Aunt  Nancy,"  an  uncle's  wife,  to 
whom  I  was  sometimes  sent  for  safe -keeping 
when  house  -  cleaning  or  anything  unusual  was 
going  on  at  home.  She  was  a  large  -  featured 
woman,  with  a  very  deep  masculine  voice,  and  she 
conducted  family  worship  herself,  kneeling  at 
prayer,  which  was  not  the  Orthodox  custom. 


50  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

She  always  began  by  saying, — 

"Oh  Lord,  Thou  knowest  that  we  are  all 
groveling  worms  of  the  dust."  I  thought  she 
meant  that  we  all  looked  like  wriggling  red  earth 
worms,  and  tried  to  make  out  the  resemblance 
in  my  mind,  but  could  not.  I  unburdened  my 
difficulty  at  home,  telling  the  family  that  "  Aunt 
Nancy  got  down  on  the  floor  and  said  we  were 
all  grubbelin*  worms,"  begging  to  know  whether 
everybody  did  sometimes  have  to  crawl  about  in 
the  dust. 

A  little  later,  I  was  much  puzzled  as  to  whether 
I  was  a  Jew  or  a  Gentile.  The  Bible  seemed  to 
divide  people  into  these  two  classes  only.  The 
Gentiles  were  not  well  spoken  of  :  I  did  not  want 
to  be  one  of  them.  They  talked  about  Abraham 
and  Isaac  and  Jacob  and  the  rest,  away  back  to 
Adam,  as  if  they  were  our  forefathers  (there  was 
a  time  when  I  thought  that  Adam  and  Eve  and 
Cain  and  Abel  were  our  four  fathers)  ;  and  yet 
I  was  very  sure  that  I  was  not  a  Jew.  When  I 
ventured  to  ask,  I  was  told  that  we  were  all  Chris 
tians  or  heathen  now.  That  did  not  help  me 
much,  for  I  thought  that  only  grown-up  persons 
could  be  Christians,  from  which  it  followed  that 
all  children  must  be  heathen.  Must  I  think  of 
myself  as  a  heathen,  then,  until  I  should  be  old 
enough  to  be  a  Christian?  It  was  a  shocking 
conclusion,  but  I  could  see  no  other  answer  to  my 
question,  and  I  felt  ashamed  to  ask  again. 


SCHOOLROOM  AND  MEETING-HOUSE.      51 

My  self-invented  theory  about  the  human  race 
was  that  Adam  and  Eve  were  very  tall  people, 
taller  than  the  tallest  trees  in  the  Garden  of 
Eden,  before  they  were  sent  out  of  it ;  but  that 
they  then  began  to  dwindle ;  that  their  children 
had  ever  since  been  getting  smaller  and  smaller, 
and  that  by  and  by  the  inhabitants  of  the  world 
would  be  no  bigger  than  babies.  1  was  afraid  I 
should  stop  growing  while  I  was  a  child,  and  I 
used  to  stand  on  the  footstool  in  the  pew,  and  try 
to  stretch  myself  up  to  my  mother's  height,  to 
imagine  how  it  would  seem  to  be  a  woman.  I 
hoped  I  should  be  a  tall  one.  I  did  not  wish  to 
be  a  diminishing  specimen  of  the  race  ;  —  an  anx 
iety  which  proved  to  be  entirely  groundless. 

The  Sabbath  mornings  in  those  old  times  had 
a  peculiar  charm.  They  seemed  so  much  cleaner 
than  other  mornings !  The  roads  and  the  grassy 
footpaths  seemed  fresher,  and  the  air  itself  purer 
and  more  wholesome  than  on  week-days.  Satur 
day  afternoon  and  evening  were  regarded  as  part 
of  the  Sabbath  (we  were  taught  that  it  was 
heathenish  to  call  the  day  Sunday) ;  work  and 
playthings  were  laid  aside,  and  every  body,  as 
well  as  every  thing,  was  subjected  to  a  rigid  reno 
vation.  Sabbath  morning  would  not  have  seemed 
like  itself  without  a  clean  house,  a  clean  skin,  and 
tidy  and  spotless  clothing. 

The  Saturday's  baking  was  a  great  event,  the 
brick  oven  being  heated  to  receive  the  flour 


62  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

bread,  the  flour-and-Indian,  and  the  rye-and-Indian 
bread,  the  traditional  pot  of  beans,  the  Indian 
pudding,  and  the  pies;  for  no  further  cooking 
was  to  be  done  until  Monday.  We  smaller  girls 
thought  it  a  great  privilege  to  be  allowed  to  watch 
the  oven  till  the  roof  of  it  should  be  "  white-hot," 
so  that  the  coals  could  be  shoveled  out. 

Then  it  was  so  still,  both  out  of  doors  and 
within  !  We  were  not  allowed  to  walk  anywhere 
except  in  the  yard  or  garden.  I  remember  won 
dering  whether  it  was  never  Sabbath-day  over 
the  fence,  in  the  next  field ;  whether  the  field 
was  not  a  kind  of  heathen  field,  since  we  could 
only  go  into  it  on  week-days.  The  wild  flowers 
over  there  were  perhaps  Gentile  blossoms.  Only 
the  flowers  in  the  garden  were  well-behaved  Chris 
tians.  It  was  Sabbath  in  the  house,  and  possibly 
even  on  the  doorstep  ;  but  not  much  farther.  The 
town  itself  was  so  quiet  that  it  scarcely  seemed  to 
breathe.  The  sound  of  wheels  was  seldom  heard 
in  the  streets  on  that  day;  if  we  heard  it,  w» 
expected  some  unusual  explanation. 

I  liked  to  go  to  meeting,  —  not  wholly  oblivion? 
to  the  fact  that  going  there  sometimes  implied 
wearing  a  new  bonnet  and  my  best  white  dress 
and  muslin  "  Vandyke,"  of  which  adornments,  if 
very  new,  I  vainly  supposed  the  whole  congrega 
tion  to  be  as  admiringly  aware  as  I  was  myself. 

But  my  Sabbath-day  enjoyment  was  not  wholly 
without  drawbacks.  It  was  so  hard,  sometimes, 


SCHOOLROOM  AND  MEETING-HOUSE.       53 

to  stand  up  through  the  "  long  prayer,"  and  to  sit 
still  through  the  "  ninthlies,"  and  "  tenthlies," 
and  "  finallys "  of  the  sermon  !  It  was  impressed 
upon  me  that  good  children  were  never  restless 
in  meeting,  and  never  laughed  or  smiled,  how 
ever  their  big  brothers  tempted  them  with  winks 
or  grimaces.  And  I  did  want  to  be  good. 

I  was  not  tall  enough  to  see  very  far  over  the 
top  of  the  pew.  I  think  there  were  only  three 
persons  that  came  within  range  of  my  eyes.  One 
was  a  dark  man  with  black  curly  hair  brushed 
down  in  "  bangs  "  over  his  eyebrows,  who  sat  be 
hind  a  green  baize  curtain  near  the  outside  door, 
peeping  out  at  me,  as  I  thought.  I  had  an  im 
pression  that  he  was  the  "  tidy-man,"  though  that 
personage  had  become  mythical  long  before  my 
day.  He  had  a  dragoiiish  look,  to  me ;  and  I 
tried  never  to  meet  his  glance. 

But  I  did  sometimes  gaze  more  earnestly  than 
was  polite  at  a  dear,  demure  little  lady  who  sat  in 
the  corner  of  the  pew  next  ours,  her  downcast 
eyes  shaded  by  a  green  calash,  and  her  hidden 
right  hand  gently  swaying  a  long-handled  Chinese 
fan.  She  was  the  deacon's  wife,  and  I  felt  greatly 
interested  in  her  movements  and  in  the  expres 
sion  of  her  face,  because  I  thought  she  repre 
sented  the  people  they  called  "  saints,"  who  were, 
as  I  supposed,  about  the  same  as  first  cousins  to 
the  angels. 

The  third  figure  in  sight  was  the  minister.     I 


64  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

did  not  think  he  ever  saw  me;  he  was  talking 
to  the  older  people,  —  usually  telling  them  how 
wicked  they  were.  He  often  said  to  them  that 
there  was  not  one  good  person  among  them  ;  but 
I  supposed  he  excepted  himself.  He  seemed  to 
me  so  very  good  that  I  was  very  much  afraid  of 
him.  I  was  a  little  afraid  of  my  father,  but  then 
he  sometimes  played  with  us  children :  and  be 
sides,  my  father  was  only  a  man.  I  thought  the 
minister  belonged  to  some  different  order  of  be 
ings.  Up  there  in  the  pulpit  he  seemed  to  me  so 
far  off  —  oh !  a  great  deal  farther  off  than  God 
did.  His  distance  made  my  reverence  for  him 
take  the  form  of  idolatry.  The  pulpit  was  his 
pedestal.  If  any  one  had  told  me  that  the  minis 
ter  ever  did  or  thought  anything  that  was  wrong, 
I  should  have  felt  as  if  the  foundations  of  the 
earth  under  me  were  shaken.  I  wondered  if  he 
ever  did  laugh.  Perhaps  it  was  wicked  for  a  min 
ister  even  to  smile. 

One  day,  when  I  was  very  little,  I  met  the 
minister  in  the  street ;  and  he,  probably  recogniz 
ing  me  as  the  child  of  one  of  his  parishioners, 
actually  bowed  to  me !  His  bows  were  always 
ministerially  profound,  and  I  was  so  overwhelmed 
with  surprise  and  awe  that  I  forgot  to  make  the 
proper  response  of  a  "  curtsey,"  but  ran  home  as 
fast  as  I  could  go,  to  proclaim  the  wonder.  It 
would  not  have  astonished  me  any  more,  if  one 
of  the  tall  Lombardy  poplars  that  stood  along  the 
sidewalk  had  laid  itself  down  at  my  feet. 


SCHOOLROOM  AND  MEETING-HOUSE.      55 

I  do  not  remember  anything  that  the  preacher 
ever  said,  except  some  words  which  I  thought 
sounded  well,  —  such  as  "  dispensations,"  "  de 
crees,"  "  ordinances,"  "  covenants,"  —  although  I 
attached  no  meaning  to  them.  He  seemed  to  be 
trying  to  explain  the  Bible  by  putting  it  into  long 
words.  I  did  not  understand  them  at  all.  It  was 
from  Aunt  Hannah  that  I  received  my  first  real 
glimpses  of  the  beautiful  New  Testament  revela 
tion.  In  her  unconscious  wisdom  she  chose  for 
me  passages  and  chapters  that  were  like  open 
ings  into  heaven.  They  contained  the  great,  deep 
truths  which  are  simple  because  they  are  great. 
It  was  not  explanations  of  those  grand  words  that 
I  required,  or  that  anybody  requires.  In  reading 
them  we  are  all  children  together,  and  need  only 
to  be  led  to  the  banks  of  the  river  of  God,  which 
is  full  of  water,  that  we  may  look  down  into  its 
pellucid  depths  for  ourselves. 

Our  minister  was  not  unlike  other  ministers  of 
the  time,  and  his  seeming  distance  from  his  con 
gregation  was  doubtless  owing  to  the  deep  rever 
ence  in  which  the  ministerial  office  was  universally 
held  among  our  predecessors.  My  own  graven- 
image  worship  of  him  was  only  a  childish  exag 
geration  of  the  general  feeling  of  grown  people 
around  me.  He  seemed  to  us  an  inhabitant  of  a 
Sabbath-day  sphere,  while  we  belonged  to  the 
e very-day  world. 

I  distinctly  remember  the  day  of  my  christen- 


56  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

ing,  when  I  was  between  three  and  four  years  old. 
My  parents  did  not  make  a  public  profession  of 
their  faith  until  after  the  birth  of  all  their  chil 
dren,  eight  of  whom  —  I  being  my  father's  ninth 
child  and  seventh  daughter  —  were  baptized  at 
one  time.  My  two  half-sisters  were  then  grown 
up  young  women.  My  mother  had  told  us  that 
the  minister  would  be  speaking  directly  to  us,  and 
that  we  must  pay  close  attention  to  what  he  said. 
I  felt  that  it  was  an  important  event,  and  I  wished 
to  do  exactly  what  the  minister  desired  of  me.  I 
listened  eagerly  while  he  read  the  chapter  and  the 
hymn.  The  latter  was  one  of  my  favorites  :  — 

" See  Israel's  gentle  Shepherd  stands; " 

and  the  chapter  was  the  third  of  St.  Matthew, 
containing  the  story  of  our  Lord's  baptism.  I 
could  not  make  out  any  special  message  for  us, 
until  he  came  to  the  words,  "  Whose  fan  is  in  his 
hand." 

That  must  be  it !  I  looked  anxiously  at  my 
sisters,  to  see  if  they  had  brought  their  fans.  It 
was  warm  weather,  and  I  had  taken  a  little  one 
of  my  own  to  meeting.  Believing  that  I  was  fol 
lowing  a  direct  instruction,  I  clasped  my  fan  to 
my  bosom  and  held  it  there  as  we  walked  up  the 
aisle,  and  during  the  ceremony,  wondering  why 
the  others  did  not  do  so,  too.  The  baby  in  my 
mother's  arms  —  Octavia,  the  eighth  daughter  — • 
shocked  me  by  crying  a  little,  but  I  tried  to  be* 
have  the  better  on  that  account. 


SCHOOLROOM  AND  MEETING-HOUSE.      57 

It  all  seemed  very  solemn  and  mysterious  to  me. 
I  knew  from  my  father's  and  mother's  absorbed 
manner  then,  and  when  we  returned  from  church, 
that  it  was  something  exceedingly  important  to 
them  —  something  that  they  wished  us  neither  to 
talk  about  nor  to  forget. 

I  never  did  forget  it.  There  remained  with  me 
a  sweet,  haunting  feeling  of  having  come  near  the 
"  gentle  Shepherd  "  of  the  hymn,  who  was  calling 
the  lambs  to  his  side.  The  chapter  had  ended 
with  the  echo  of  a  voice  from  heaven,  and  with  the 
glimpse  of  a  descending  Dove.  And  the  water- 
drops  on  my  forehead,  were  they  not  from  that 
"pure  river  of  water  of  life,  clear  as  crystal," 
that  made  music  through  those  lovely  verses  in 
the  last  chapter  of  the  good  Book  ? 

I  am  glad  that  I  have  always  remembered  that 
day  of  family  consecration.  As  I  look  back,  it 
seems  as  if  the  horizons  of  heaven  and  earth 
met  and  were  blended  then.  And  who  can  tell 
whether  the  fragrance  of  that  day's  atmosphere 
may  not  enter  into  the  freshness  of  some  new 
childhood  in  the  life  which  is  to  come  ? 


III. 

THE  HYMN-BOOK. 

ALMOST  the  first  decided  taste  in  my  life  was 
the  love  of  hymns.  Committing  them  to  memory 
was  as  natural  to  me  as  breathing.  I  followed  my 
mother  about  with  the  hymn-book  ("  Watts'  and 
Select"),  reading  or  repeating  them  to  her,  while 
she  was  busy  with  her  baking  or  ironing,  and  she 
was  always  a  willing  listener.  She  was  fond  of 
devotional  reading,  but  had  little  time  for  it,  and 
it  pleased  her  to  know  that  so  small  a  child  as  I 
really  cared  for  the  hymns  she  loved. 

I  learned  most  of  them  at  meeting.  I  was  told 
to  listen  to  the  minister ;  but  as  I  did  not  un 
derstand  a  word  he  was  saying,  I  gave  it  up,  and 
took  refuge  in  the  hymn-book,  with  the  conscien 
tious  purpose  of  trying  to  sit  still.  I  turned  the 
leaves  over  as  noiselessly  as  possible,  to  avoid  the 
dreaded  reproof  of  my  mother's  keen  blue  eyes ; 
and  sometimes  I  learned  two  or  three  hymns  in  a 
forenoon  or  an  afternoon.  Finding  it  so  easy,  I 
thought  I  would  begin  at  the  beginning,  and  learn 
the  whole.  There  were  about  a  thousand  of  them 
included  in  the  Psalms,  the  First,  Second,  and 


THE  HYMN-BOOK.  59 

llrird  Books,  and  the  Select  Hymns.  But  I  had 
learned  to  read  before  I  had  any  knowledge  of 
counting  up  numbers,  and  so  was  blissfully  igno 
rant  of  the  magnitude  of  my  undertaking.  I  did 
not,  I  think,  change  my  resolution  because  there 
were  so  many,  but  because,  little  as  I  was,  I  dis 
covered  that  there  were  hymns  and  hymns.  Some 
of  them  were  so  prosy  that  the  words  would  not 
stay  in  my  memory  at  all,  so  I  concluded  that  I 
would  learn  only  those  I  liked. 

I  had  various  reasons  for  my  preferences. 
With  some,  I  was  caught  by  a  melodious  echo,  OP 
a  sonorous  ring ;  with  others  by  the  hint  of  a  pic 
ture,  or  a  story,  or  by  some  sacred  suggestion  that 
attracted  me,  I  knew  not  why.  Of  some  I  was 
fond  just  because  I  misunderstood  them ;  and  of 
these  I  made  a  free  version  in  my  mind,  as  I  mur 
mured  them  over.  One  of  my  first  favorites  was 
certainly  rather  a  singular  choice  for  a  child  of 
three  or  four  years.  I  had  no  idea  of  its  mean 
ing,  but  made  up  a  little  story  out  of  it,  with  my- 
«elf  as  the  heroine.  It  began  with  the  words  — 

"Come,  humble  sinner,  in  whose  breast 
A  thousand  thoughts  revolve." 

The  second  stanza  read  thus :  — 

"  I  '11  go  to  Jesus,  though  my  sin 
Hath  like  a  mountain  rose." 

I  did  not  know  that  this  last  line  was  bad  gram 
mar,  but  thought  that  the  sin  in  question  was 


60  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

something  pretty,  that  looked  "  like  a  mountain, 
rose."  Mountains  I  had  never  seen ;  they  were 
a  glorious  dream  to  me.  And  a  rose  that  grew 
on  a  mountain  must  surely  be  prettier  than  any  of 
our  red  wild  roses  on  the  hill,  sweet  as  they  were. 
I  would  pluck  that  rose,  and  carry  it  up  the  moun 
tain-side  into  the  temple  where  the  King  sat,  and 
would  give  it  to  Him ;  and  then  He  would  touch 
me  with  his  sceptre,  and  let  me  through  into  a 
garden  full  of  flowers.  There  was  no  garden  in 
the  hymn  ;  I  suppose  the  "  rose  "  made  me  invent 
one.  But  it  did  read  — 

"  I  know  his  courts  ;  I  '11  enter  in, 
Whatever  may  oppose  ;  " 

and  so  I  fancied  there  would  be  lions  in  the  way, 
as  there  were  in  the  Pilgrim's,  at  the  "House 
Beautiful "  ;  but  I  should  not  be  afraid  of  them  ; 
they  would  no  doubt  be  chained.  The  last  verse 
began  with  the  lines,  — 

"  I  can  but  perish  if  I  go : 
I  am  resolved  to  try  :  " 

and  my  heart  beat  a  brave  echo  to  the  wordi,  as 
I  started  off  in  fancy  on  a  "  Pilgrim's  Progress  " 
of  my  own,  a  happy  little  dreamer,  telling  nobody 
the  secret  of  my  imaginary  journey,  taken  in  ser 
mon-time. 

Usually,  the  hymns  for  which  I  cared  most  sug 
gested  Nature  in  some  way,  —  flowers,  trees,  skies, 
and  stars.  When  I  repeated,  — 

"  There  everlasting  spring  abides, 
And  never-withering  flowers,"  — 


THE  HYMN-BOOK.  61 

I  thought  of  the  faintly  flushed  anemones  and 
white  and  blue  violets,  the  dear  little  short-lived 
children  of  our  shivering  spring.  They  also  would 
surely  be  found  in  that  heavenly  land,  blooming 
on  through  the  cloudless,  endless  year.  And  I 
seemed  to  smell  the  spiciness  of  bayberry  and 
sweet-fern  and  wild  roses  and  meadow-sweet  that 
grew  in  fragrant  jungles  up  and  down  the  hill 
side  back  of  the  meeting-house,  in  another  verse 
which  I  dearly  loved :  — 

"  The  hill  of  Zion  yields 

A  thousand  sacred  sweets, 
Before  we  reach  the  heavenly  fields, 
Or  walk  the  golden  streets." 

We  were  allowed  to  take  a  little  nosegay  to 
meeting  sometimes :  a  pink  or  two  (pinks  were 
pink  then,  not  red,  nor  white,  nor  even  double) 
and  a  sprig  of  camomile ;  and  their  blended  per 
fume  still  senms  to  be  a  part  of  the  June  Sabbath 
mornings  long  passed  away. 

When  the  choir  sang  of 

"  Seas  of  heavenly  rest," 

a  breath  of  salt  wind  came  in  with  the  words 
through  the  open  door,  from  the  sheltered  waters 
of  the  bay,  so  softly  blue  and  so  lovely,  I  always 
wondered  how  a  world  could  be  beautiful  where 
"  there  was  no  more  sea."  I  concluded  that  the 
hymn  and  the  text  could  not  really  contradict 
each  other;  that  there  must  be  something  like 
the  sea  in  heaven,  after  all  One  stanza  that  I 


62  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

used  to  croon  over,  gave  me  the  feeling  of  being 
rocked  in  a  boat  on  a  strange  and  beautiful  ocean, 
from  whose  far-off  shores  the  sunrise  beckoned :  -*- 

"  At  anchor  laid,  remote  from  home, 
Toiling  I  cry,  Sweet  Spirit,  come  I 
Celestial  breeze,  no  longer  stay ! 
But  spread  my  sails,  and  speed  my  way  I n 

Some  of  the  chosen  hymns  of  my  infancy  the 
world  recognizes  among  its  noblest  treasures  of 
sacred  song.  That  one  of  Doddridge's,  beginning 
with 

"  Ye  golden  lamps  of  heaven,  farewell!  " 

made  me  feel  as  if  I  had  just  been  gazing  in  at 
some  window  of  the  "  many  mansions  "  above.— 

"  Ye  stars  are  bnt  the  shining  dust 
Of  my  divine  abode." 

Had  I  not  known  that,  ever  since  I  was  a  baby? 
But  the  light  does  not  stream  down  even  into 
a  baby's  soul  with  equal  brightness  all  the  time. 
Earth  draws  her  dark  curtains  too  soon  over  the 
windows  of  heaven,  and  the  little  children  fall 
asleep  in  her  dim  rooms,  and  forget  their  visions. 
That  majestic  hymn  of  Cowper's,  — 

"  God  moves  in  a  mysterious  way,"  — 

was  one  of  my  first  and  dearest.  It  reminded  me 
of  the  rolling  of  thunder  through  the  sky ;  and, 
understood  as  little  as  the  thunder  itself,  which 
my  mother  told  me  was  God's  voice,  so  that  I 


THE  HYMN-BOOK.  63 

bent  my  ear  and  listened,  expecting  to  hear  it 
shaped  into  words,  it  still  did  give  me  an  idea  of 
the  presence  of  One  Infinite  Being,  that  thrilled 
me  with  reverent  awe.  And  this  was  one  of  the 
best  lessons  taught  in  the  Puritan  school,  —  the 
lesson  of  reverence,  the  certainty  that  life  meant 
looking  up  to  something,  to  Some  One  greater 
than  ourselves,  to  a  Life  far  above  us,  which  yet 
enfolded  ours. 

The  thought  of  God,  when  He  was  first  spoken 
of  to  me,  seemed  as  natural  as  the  thought  of  my 
father  and  mother.  That  He  should  be  invisible 
did  not  seem  strange,  for  I  could  not  with  my 
eyes  see  through  the  sky,  beyond  which  I  sup 
posed  He  lived.  But  it  was  easy  to  believe  that 
He  could  look  down  and  see  me,  and  that  He 
knew  all  about  me.  We  were  taught  very  early 
to  say  "  Thou,  God,  seest  me  "  ;  and  it  was  one 
of  my  favorite  texts.  Heaven  seemed  nearer,  be 
cause  somebody  I  loved  was  up  there  looking  at 
me.  A  baby  is  not  afraid  of  its  father's  eyes. 

The  first  real  unhappiness  I  remember  to  have 
felt  was  when  some  one  told  me,  one  day,  that 
I  did  not  love  God.  I  insisted,  almost  tearfully, 
that  I  did ;  but  I  was  told  that  if  I  did  truly  love 
Him  I  should  always  be  good.  I  knew  I  was  not 
that,  and  the  feeling  of  sudden  orphanage  came 
over  me  like  a  bewildering  cloud.  Yet  I  was  sure 
that  I  loved  my  father  and  mother,  even  when 
1  was  naughty  Was  He  harder  to  please  than 
they? 


64  A  NEW  ENGLAND   GIRLHOOD. 

Then  I  heard  of  a  dreadful  dark  Somewhere, 
the  horror  of  which  was  that  it  was  away  from 

Him.     What   if  I  should  wake    some  mornin°\ 

&* 

and  find  myself  there  ?  Sometimes  I  did  not  dare 
to  go  to  sleep  for  that  dread.  And  the  thought 
was  too  awful  to  speak  of  to  anybody.  Baby 
that  I  was,  I  shut  my  lips  in  a  sort  of  reckless 
despair,  and  thought  that  if  I  could  not  be  good, 
I  might  as  well  be  naughty,  and  enjoy  it.  But 
somehow  I  could  not  enjoy  it.  I  felt  sorry  and 
ashamed  and  degraded  whenever  I  knew  that  I 
had  been  cross  or  selfish. 

I  heard  them  talk  about  Jesus  as  if  He  were  a 
dead  man,  one  who  died  a  great  while  ago,  whose 
death  made  a  great  difference  to  us,  I  could  not 
understand  how.  It  seemed  like  a  lovely  story, 
the  loveliest  in  the  world,  but  it  sounded  as  if  it 
were  only  a  story,  even  to  those  who  repeated  it 
to  me ;  something  that  had  happened  far  away  in 
the  past. 

But  one  day  a  strange  minister  came  into  the 
Sabbath-school  in  our  little  chapel,  and  spoke  to 
us  children  about  Him,  oh  !  so  differently ! 

"  Children,"  he  said,  "  Jesus  is  not  dead.  He 
is  alive  :  He  loves  you,  and  wants  you  to  love 
Him  !  He  is  your  best  Friend,  and  He  will  show 
you  how  to  be  good." 

My  heart  beat  fast.  I  could  hardly  keep  back 
the  tears.  The  New  Testament,  then,  did  really 
mean  what  it  said !  Jesus  said  He  would  come 


THE  HYMN-BOOK.  65 

back  again,  and  would  always  be  with  those  who 
loved  Him. 

"  He  is  alive !  He  loves  me !  He  will  tell  me 
how  to  be  good  !  "  I  said  it  over  to  myself,  but 
not  to  anybody  else.  I  was  sure  that  I  loved 
Him.  It  was  like  a  beautiful  secret  between  us 
two.  I  felt  Him  so  alive  and  so  near!  He 
wanted  me  to  be  good,  and  I  could  be,  I  would 
be,  for  his  sake. 

That  stranger  never  knew  how  his  loving  word 
had  touched  a  child's  heart.  The  doors  of  the 
Father's  house  were  opened  wide  again,  by  the 
only  hand  that  holds  the  key.  The  world  was  all 
bright  and  fresh  once  more.  It  was  as  if  the 
May  sun  had  suddenly  wakened  the  flowers  in  an 
overshadowed  wayside  nook. 

I  tried  long  afterward,  thinking  that  it  was  my 
duty,  to  build  up  a  wall  of  difficult  doctrines  over 
my  spring  blossoms,  as  if  they  needed  protection. 
But  the  sweet  light  was  never  wholly  stifled  out, 
though  I  did  not  always  keep  my  face  turned  to 
wards  it ;  and  I  know  now,  that  just  to  let  his  life- 
giving  smile  shine  into  the  soul  is  better  than  any 
of  the  theories  we  can  invent  about  Him ;  and 
that  only  so  can  young  or  old  receive  the  kingdom 
of  God  as  a  little  child. 

I  believe  that  one  great  reason  for  a  child's 
love  of  hymns,  such  as  mine  was,  is  that  they 
are  either  addressed  to  a  Person,  to  the  Divine 
Person,  —  or  they  bring  Him  before  the  mind  in 


66  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD, 

some  distinct  way,  instead  of  being  written  upon 
a  subject,  like  a  sermon.  To  make  Him  real  is  the 
only  way  to  make  our  own  spirits  real  to  ourselves. 

I  think  more  gratefully  now  of  the  verses  I 
learned  from  the  Bible  and  the  Hymn-Book  than 
of  almost  anything  that  came  to  me  in  that  time 
of  beginnings.  The  whole  Hymn-Book  was  not  for 
me  then,  any  more  than  the  whole  Bible.  I  took 
from  both  only  what  really  belonged  to  me.  To 
be  among  those  who  found  in  them  true  sources 
of  faith  and  adoration,  was  like  breathing  in  my 
native  air,  though  I  could  not  tell  anything  about 
the  land  from  which  I  had  come.  Much  that  was 
put  in  the  way  of  us  children  to  climb  by,  we 
could  only  stumble  over;  but  around  and  above 
the  roughnesses  of  the  road,  the  pure  atmosphere 
of  worship  was  felt  everywhere,  the  healthiest  at 
mosphere  for  a  child's  soul  to  breathe  in. 

I  had  learned  a  great  many  hymns  before  the 
family  took  any  notice  of  it.  When  it  came  to 
the  knowledge  of  my  most  motherly  sister  Emilie, 
• —  I  like  to  call  her  that,  for  she  was  as  fond  of 
early  rising  as  Chaucer's  heroine :  — 

"  Up  rose  the  sun,  and  up  rose  Emilie  ;  " 

and  it  is  her  own  name,  with  a  very  slight 
change,  —  she  undertook  to  see  how  many  my  small 
memory  would  contain.  She  promised  me  a  new 
book,  when  I  should  have  learned  fifty ;  and  that 
when  I  could  repeat  any  one  of  a  hundred  hymns, 
she  would  teach  me  to  write.  I  earned  the  book 


THE  HYMN-BOOK.  67 

when  I  was  about  four  years  old.  I  think  it  was 
a  collection  of  some  of  Jane  Taylor's  verses.  "  For 
Infant  Minds,"  was  part  of  the  title.  I  did  not 
care  for  it,  however,  nearly  so  much  as  I  did  for 
the  old,  thumb-worn  "  Watts'  and  Select  Hymns." 
Before  I  was  five  I  had  gone  beyond  the  stipu 
lated  hundred. 

A  proud  and  happy  child  I  was,  when  I  was 
permitted  to  dip  a  goose  quill  into  an  inkstand, 
and  make  written  letters,  instead  of  printing 
them  with  a  pencil  on  a  slate. 

My  sister  prepared  a  neat  little  writing-book 
for  me,  and  told  me  not  to  make  a  mark  in  it 
except  when  she  was  near  to  tell  me  what  to  do. 
In  my  self-sufficient  impatience  to  get  out  of  "pot* 
hooks  and  trammels  "  into  real  letters  and  words, 
I  disobeyed  her  injunction,  and  disfigured  the 
pages  with  numerous  tell-tale  blots.  Then  I  hid 
the  book  away  under  the  garret  eaves,  and  refused 
to  bring  it  to  light  again.  I  was  not  allowed  to 
resume  my  studies  in  penmanship  for  some  months, 
in  consequence.  But  when  I  did  learn  to  write, 
Emilie  was  my  teacher,  and  she  made  me  take 
great  pains  with  my  p's  and  q's. 

It  is  always  a  mistake  to  cram  a  juvenile  mind. 
A  precocious  child  is  certainly  as  far  as  possible 
from  being  an  interesting  one.  Children  ought  to 
be  children,  and  nothing  else.  But  I  am  not  sorry 
that  I  learned  to  read  when  so  young,  because 


68  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

there  were  years  of  iny  childhood  that  came 
when  I  had  very  little  time  for  reading  anything. 

To  learn  hymns  was  not  only  a  pastime,  but  a 
pleasure  which  it  would  Lave  been  almost  cruel 
to  deprive  me  oL  It  did  not  seem  to  me  as  if  I 
learned  them,  but  as  if  they  just  gave  themselves 
to  me  while  I  read  them  over ;  as  if  they,  and  the 
unseen  things  they  sang  about,  became  a  part  of 
me. 

Some  of  the  old  hymns  did  seem  to  lend  us 
wings,  so  full  were  they  of  aspiration  and  hope 
and  courage.  To  a  little  child,  reading  them  or 
hearing  them  sung  was  like  being  caught  up  in  a 
strong  man's  arms,  to  gaze  upon  some  wonderful 
landscape.  These  climbing  and  flying  hymns,  — 
how  well  I  remember  them,  although  they  were 
among  the  first  I  learned !  They  are  of  the  kind 
that  can  never  wear  out.  We  all  know  them  by 
their  first  lines,  — 

"  Awake,  our  souls !  away,  our  fears  I  " 
"  Up  to  the  hills  I  lift  mine  eyes." 
"  There  is  a  land  of  pure  delight." 

"  Rise,  my  soul,  and  stretch  thy  wings, 
Thy  better  portion  trace  1  " 

How  the  meeting-house  rafters  used  to  ring  to 
that  last  hymn,  sung  to  the  tune  of  "  Amster 
dam  !  "  Sometimes  it  seemed  as  if  the  very  roof 
was  lifted  off,  —  nay,  the  roof  of  the  sky  itself,  — 
as  if  the  music  had  burst  an  entrance  for  our  souls 
into  the  heaven  of  heavens. 


THE  HYMN-BOOK.  69 

I  loved  to  learn  the  glad  hymns,  and  there 
were  scores  of  them.  They  come  flocking  back 
through  the  years,  like  birds  that  are  full  of  the 
music  of  an  immortal  spring ! 

"  Come,  let  us  join  our  cheerful  songs 
With  angels  round  the  throne." 

"  Love  divine,  all  love  excelling ; 

Joy  of  heaven,  to  earth  come  down." 

11  Joy  to  the  world  !  the  Lord  is  come !  " 

"  Hark !  the  song  of  jubilee, 

Loud  as  mighty  thunders'  roar, 
Or  the  fullness  of  the  sea 

When  it  breaks  upon  the  shore  I 

"Hallelujah!  for  the  Lord 

God  Omnipotent  shall  reign  ! 
Hallelujah  !  let  the  word 

Echo  round  the  earth  and  main." 

Ah,  that  word  "Hallelujah!"  It  seemed  to 
express  all  the  joy  of  spring  mornings  and  clear 
Sunshine  and  bursting  blossoms,  blended  with  all 
that  I  guessed  of  the  songs  of  angels,  and  with  all 
that  I  had  heard  and  believed,  in  my  fledgling 
soul,  of  the  glorious  One  who  was  born  in  a 
manger  and  died  on  a  cross,  that  He  might  reign 
in  human  hearts  as  a  king.  I  wondered  why 
the  people  did  not  sing  "  Hallelujah  "  more.  It 
seemed  like  a  word  sent  straight  down  to  us  out 
of  heaven. 

I  did  not  like  to  learn  the  sorrowful  hymns, 
though  I  did  it  when  they  were  given  to  me  as  a 
task,  such  as  — 


70  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

"  Hark,  from  the  tombs," 

and 

*'  Lord,  what  a  wretched  land  is  this, 
That  yields  us  no  supply." 

I  suppose  that  these  mournful  strains  had  theii 
place,  but  sometimes  the  transition  was  too  sud 
den,  from  the  outside  of  the  meeting-house  to  the 
inside ;  from  the  sunshine  and  bobolinks  and  but 
tercups  of  the  merry  May-day  world,  to  the  sad 
strains  that  chanted  of  "  this  barren  land,"  this 
"  vale  of  tears,"  this  "  wilderness  "  of  distress  and 
woe.  It  let  us  light-hearted  children  too  quickly 
down  from  the  higher  key  of  mirth  to  which  our 
careless  thoughts  were  pitched.  We  knew  that 
we  were  happy,  and  sorrow  to  us  was  unreal.  But 
somehow  we  did  often  get  the  impression  that  it 
was  our  duty  to  try  to  be  sorrowful ;  and  that  we 
could  not  be  entirely  good,  without  being  rather 
miserable. 

And  I  am  afraid  that  in  my  critical  little  mind 
I  looked  upon  it  as  an  affectation  on  the  part  of 
the  older  people  to  speak  of  life  in  this  doleful 
way.  I  thought  that  they  really  knew  better.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  it  must  be  delightful  to  grow 
up,  and  learn  things,  and  do  things,  and  be  very 
good  indeed,  —  better  than  children  could  possi 
bly  know  how  to  be.  I  knew  afterwards  that  my 
elders  were  sometimes,  at  least,  sincere  in  their 
sadness;  for  with  many  of  them  life  must  have 
been  a  hard  struggle.  But  when  they  shook  their 


THE  HYMN-BOOK.  71 

beads  and  said,  —  "  Child,  you  will  not  be  so  happy 
by  and  by ;  you  are  seeing  your  best  days  now," 
—  I  still  doubted.  I  was  born  with  the  blessing 
of  a  cheerful  temperament ;  and  while  that  is  not 
enough  to  sustain  any  of  us  through  the  inevita 
ble  sorrows  that  all  must  share,  it  would  have 
been  most  unnatural  and  ungrateful  in  me  to 
think  of  earth  as  a  dismal  place,  when  everything 
without  and  within  was  trying  to  tell  me  that  this 
good  and  beautiful  world  belongs  to  God. 

I  took  exception  to  some  verses  in  many  of  the 
hymns  that  I  loved  the  most.  I  had  my  own 
mental  reservations  with  regard  even  to  that  glo 
rious  chant  of  the  ages,  — 

"Jerusalem,  my  happy  home, 
Name  ever  dear  to  me." 

I  always  wanted  to  skip  one  half  of  the  third 
stanza,  as  it  stood  in  our  Hymn-Book  :  — 

"  Where  congregations  ne'er  break  up, 
And  Sabbaths  have  no  end." 

I  did  not  want  it  to  be  Sabbath-day  always.  I 
was  conscious  of  a  pleasure  in  the  thought  of 
games  and  frolics  and  coming  week-day  delights 
that  would  flit  across  my  mind  even  when  I  was 
studying  my  hymns,  or  trying  to  listen  to  the 
minister.  And  I  did  want  the  congregation  to 
break  up  some  time.  Indeed,  in  those  bright 
spring  days,  the  last  hymn  in  the  afternoon  always 
sounded  best,  because  with  it  came  the  opening  of 


72  A  NEW  ENGLAND   GIRLHOOD. 

doors  into  the  outside  air,  and  the  pouring  in  of 
a  mingled  scent  of  sea  winds  and  apple  blossoms, 
like  an  invitation  out  into  the  freedom  of  the 
beach,  the  hillsides,  the  fields  and  gardens  and 
orchards.  In  all  this  I  felt  as  if  I  were  very 
wicked.  I  was  afraid  that  I  loved  earth  better 
than  I  did  heaven. 

Nevertheless  I  always  did  welcome  that  last 
hymn,  announced  to  be  sung  "  with  the  Doxology," 
usually  in  "  long  metre,"  to  the  tune  of  "  Old 
Hundred."  There  were  certain  mysterious  pre 
liminaries,  —  the  rustling  of  singing-book  leaves, 
the  sliding  of  the  short  screen-curtains  before  the 
singers  along  by  their  clinking  rings,  and  now  and 
then  a  premonitory  groan  or  squeak  from  bass- 
viol  or  violin,  as  if  the  instruments  were  clearing 
their  throats ;  and  finally  the  sudden  uprising  of 
that  long  row  of  heads  in  the  "  singing-seats." 

My  tallest  and  prettiest  grown-up  sister,  Louise, 
stood  there  among  them,  and  of  all  those  girlish, 
blooming  faces  I  thought  hers  the  very  handsom 
est.  But  she  did  not  open  her  lips  wide  enough 
to  satisfy  me.  I  could  not  see  that  she  was  sing 
ing  at  all. 

To  stand  up  there  and  be  one  of  the  choir, 
seemed  to  me  very  little  short  of  promotion  to  the 
ranks  of  cherubim  and  seraphim.  I  quite  envied 
that  tall,  pretty  sister  of  mine.  I  was  sure  that  I 
should  open  my  mouth  wide,  if  I  could  only  be  in 
her  place.  Alas !  the  years  proved  that,  much  as 


THE  HYMN-BOOK.  73 

J  loved  the  hymns,  there  was  no  music  in  me  to 
give  them  voice,  except  to  very  indulgent  ears. 

Some  of  us  must  wait  for  the  best  human  gifts 
until  we  come  to  heavenly  places.  Our  natural 
desire  for  musical  utterance  is  perhaps  a  prophecy 
that  in  a  perfect  world  we  shall  all  know  how  to 
sing.  But  it  is  something  to  feel  music,  if  we 
cannot  make  it.  That,  in  itself,  is  a  kind  of  un 
conscious  singing. 

As  I  think  back  to  my  childhood,  it  seems  to 
me  as  if  the  air  was  full  of  hymns,  as  it  was  of 
the  fragrance  of  clover-blossoms,  and  the  songs  of 
bluebirds  and  robins,  and  the  deep  undertone  of 
the  sea.  And  the  purity,  the  calmness,  and  the 
coolness  of  the  dear  old  Sabbath  days  seems  lin 
gering  yet  in  the  words  of  those  familiar  hymns, 
whenever  I  hear  them  sung.  Their  melody  pene 
trates  deep  into  my  life,  assuring  me  that  I  have 
not  left  the  green  pastures  and  the  still  waters 
of  my  childhood  very  far  behind  me. 

There  is  something  at  the  heart  of  a  true  song 
or  hymn  which  keeps  the  heart  young  that  listens. 
It  is  like  a  breeze  from  the  eternal  hills  ;  like  the 
west  wind  of  spring,  never  by  a  breath  less  balmy 
and  clear  for  having  poured  life  into  the  old  gen 
erations  of  earth  for  thousands  of  years  ;  a  spir 
itual  freshness,  which  has  nothing  to  do  with  time 
or  decay. 


IV. 

NAUGHTY  CHILDREN  AND   FAIRY  TALES. 

ALTHOUGH  the  children  of  an  earlier  time 
heard  a  great  deal  of  theological  discussion  which 
meant  little  or  nothing  to  them,  there  was  one 
thing  that  was  made  clear  and  emphatic  in  all 
the  Puritan  training:  that  the  heavens  and  earth 
stood  upon  firm  foundations — upon  the  Moral 
Law  as  taught  in  the  Old  Testament  and  con 
firmed  by  the  New.  Whatever  else  we  did  not 
understand,  we  believed  that  to  disobey  our  par 
ents,  to  lie  or  steal,  had  been  forbidden  by  a 
Voice  which  was  not  to  be  gainsaid.  People  who 
broke  or  evaded  these  commands  did  so  willfully, 
and  without  excusing  themselves,  or  being  excused 
by  others.  I  think  most  of  us  expected  the  fate 
of  Ananias  and  Sapphira,  if  we  told  what  we 
knew  was  a  falsehood. 

There  were  reckless  exceptions,  however.  A 
playmate,  of  whom  I  was  quite  fond,  was  once 
asked,  in  my  presence,  whether  she  had  done 
something  forbidden,  which  I  knew  she  had  been 
about  only  a  little  while  before.  She  answered 
"  No,"  and  without  any  apparent  hesitation.  Af 
ter  the  person  who  made  the  inquiry  had  gone,  I 


NAUGHTY  CHILDREN  AND  FAIRY  TALES.    7fi 

exclaimed,  with  horrified  wonder,  "How  could 
you?" 

Her  reply  was,  "  Oh,  I  only  kind  of  said  no." 
What  a  real  lie  was  to  her,  if  she  understood  a 
distinct  denial  of  the  truth  as  only  "  kind-of " 
lying,  it  perplexed  me  to  imagine.  The  years 
proved  that  this  lack  of  moral  perception  was 
characteristic,  and  nearly  spoiled  a  nature  full  of 
beautiful  gifts. 

I  could  not  deliberately  lie,  but  I  had  my  own 
temptations,  which  I  did  not  always  successfully 
resist.  I  remember  the  very  spot  —  in  a  foot 
path  through  a  green  field  —  where  I  first  met 
the  Eighth  Commandment,  and  felt  it  looking  me 
full  in  the  face. 

I  suppose  I  was  five  or  six  years  old.  I  had 
begun  to  be  trusted  with  errands;  one  of  them 
was  to  go  to  a  farm-house  for  a  quart  of  milk 
every  morning,  to  purchase  which  I  went  always 
to  the  money-drawer  in  the  shop  and  took  out 
four  cents.  We  were  allowed  to  take  a  "  small 
brown"  biscuit,  or  a  date,  or  a  fig,  or  a  "gibral- 
tar,"  sometimes;  but  we  well  understood  that  we 
could  not  help  ourselves  to  money. 

Now  there  was  a  little  painted  sugar  equestrian 
in  a  shop-widow  down  town,  which  I  had  seen  and 
set  my  heart  upon.  I  had  learned  that  its  price 
was  two  cents  ;  and  one  morning  as  I  passed  around 
the  counter  with  my  tin  pail  I  made  up  my  mind 
to  possess  myself  of  that  amount.  My  father's 


76  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

back  was  turned ;  he  was  busy  at  his  desk  with 
account-books  and  ledgers.  I  counted  out  four 
cents  aloud,  but  took  six,  and  started  on  my  er 
rand  with  a  fascinating  picture  before  me  of  that 
pink  and  green  horseback  rider  as  my  very  own. 

I  cannot  imagine  what  I  meant  to  do  with  him. 
I  knew  that  his  paint  was  poisonous,  and  I  could 
not  have  intended  to  eat  him ;  there  were  much 
better  candies  in  my  father's  window ;  he  would 
not  sell  these  dangerous  painted  toys  to  children. 
But  the  little  man  was  pretty  to  look  at,  and  I 
wanted  him,  and  meant  to  have  him.  It  was 
just  a  child's  first  temptation  to  get  possession  of 
what  was  not  her  own,  —  the  same  ugly  tempta 
tion  that  produces  the  defaulter,  the  burglar,  and 
the  highway  robber,  and  that  made  it  necessary 
to  declare  to  every  human  being  the  law,  "  Thou 
shalt  not  covet." 

As  I  left  the  shop,  I  was  conscious  of  a  certain 
pleasure  in  the  success  of  my  attempt,  as  any  thief 
might  be ;  and  I  walked  off  very  fast,  clattering 
the  coppers  in  the  tin  pail. 

When  I  was  fairly  through  the  bars  that  led 
into  the  farmer's  field,  and  nobody  was  in  sight,  I 
took  out  my  purloined  pennies,  and  looked  at  them 
as  they  lay  in  my  palm. 

Then  a  strange  thing  happened.  It  was  a 
bright  morning,  but  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  the  sky 
grew  suddenly  dark ;  and  those  two  pennies  be 
gan  to  burn  through  my  hand,  to  scorch  me,  as  if 


'     NAUGHTY  CHILDREN  AND  FAIRY  TALES.    77 

they  were  red  hot,  to  my  very  soul.  It  was  agony 
to  hold  them.  I  laid  them  down  under  a  tuft  of 
grass  in  the  footpath,  and  ran  as  if  I  had  left  a 
demon  behind  me.  I  did  my  errand,  and  return 
ing,  I  looked  about  in  the  grass  for  the  two  cents, 
wondering  whether  they  could  make  me  feel  so 
badly  again.  But  my  good  angel  hid  them  from 
me ;  I  never  found  them. 

I  was  too  much  of  a  coward  to  confess  my 
fault  to  my  father ;  I  had  already  begun  to  think 
of  him  as  "  an  austere  man,"  like  him  in  the  par 
able  of  the  talents.  I  should  have  been  a  much 
happier  child  if  I  had  confessed,  for  I  had  to  carry 
about  with  me  for  weeks  and  months  a  heavy 
burden  cf  shame.  I  thought  of  myself  as  a  thief, 
and  used  to  dream  of  being  carried  off  to  jail  and 
condemned  to  the  gallows  for  my  offense :  one  of 
my  story-books  told  about  a  boy  who  was  hanged 
at  Tyburn  for  stealing,  and  how  was  I  better  than 
he? 

Whatever  naughtiness  I  was  guilty  of  after 
wards,  I  never  again  wanted  to  take  what  be* 
longed  to  another,  whether  in  the  family  or  out 
of  it.  I  hated  the  sight  of  the  little  sugar  horse 
back  rider  from  that  day,  and  was  thankful  enough 
when  some  other  child  had  bought  him  and  left 
his  place  in  the  window  vacant. 

About  this  time  I  used  to  lie  awake  nights  a 
good  deal,  wondering  what  became  of  infants  who 
were  wicked,  I  had  heard  it  said  that  all  who 


78  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

died  in  infancy  went  to  heaven,  but  it  was  also 
said  that  those  who  sinned  could  not  possibly  go 
to  heaven.  I  understood,  from  talks  I  had  lis 
tened  to  among  older  people,  that  infancy  lasted 
until  children  were  about  twelve  years  of  age. 
Yet  here  was  I,  an  infant  of  less  than  six  years, 
who  had  committed  a  sin.  I  did  not  know  what 
to  do  with  my  own  case.  I  doubted  whether  it 
would  do  any  good  for  me  to  pray  to  be  forgiven,, 
but  I  did  pray,  because  I  could  not  help  it,  though 
not  aloud.  I  believe  I  preferred  thinking  my 
prayers  to  saying  them,  almost  always. 

Inwardly,  I  objected  to  the  idea  of  being  an 
infant;  it  seemed  to  me  like  being  nothing  in 
particular  —  neither  a  child  nor  a  little  girl,  nei 
ther  a  baby  nor  a  woman.  Having  discovered 
that  I  was  capable  of  being  wicked,  I  thought  it 
would  be  better  if  I  could  grow  up  at  once,  and 
assume  my  own  responsibilities.  It  quite  demor 
alized  me  when  people  talked  in  my  presence 
about  "  innocent  little  children." 

There  was  much  questioning  in  those  days  as  to 
whether  fictitious  reading  was  good  for  children. 
To  "  tell  a  story  "  was  one  equivalent  expression 
for  lying.  But  those  who  came  nearest  to  my 
child-life  recognized  the  value  of  truth  as  im 
pressed  through  the  imagination,  and  left  me  in 
delightful  freedom  among  my  fairy-tale  books.  I 
think  I  saw  a  difference,  from  the  first,  between 
the  old  poetic  legends  and  a  modern  lie,  espe- 


NAUGHTY  CHILDREN  AND  FAIRY  TALES.  79 

daily  if  this  latter  was  the  invention  of  a  fancy 
as  youthful  as  my  own. 

I  supposed  that  the  beings  of  those  imaginative 
tales  had  lived  some  time,  somewhere ;  perhaps 
they  still  existed  in  foreign  countries,  which  were 
all  a  realm  of  fancy  to  me.  I  was  certain  that 
they  could  not  inhabit  our  matter-of-fact  neigh 
borhood.  I  had  never  heard  that  any  fairies  or 
elves  came  over  with  the  Pilgrims  in  the  May 
flower.  But  a  little  red-haired  playmate  with 
whom  I  became  intimate  used  to  take  me  off  with 
her  into  the  fields,  where,  sitting  on  the  edge  of 
a  disused  cartway  fringed  with  pussy-clover,  she 
poured  into  my  ears  the  most  remarkable  narra 
tives  of  acquaintances  she  had  made  with  peo 
ple  who  lived  under  the  ground  close  by  us,  in 
my  father's  orchard.  Her  literal  descriptions 
quite  deceived  me ;  I  swallowed  her  stories  entire, 
just  as  people  in  the  last  century  did  Defoe's  ac 
count  of  "  The  Apparition  of  Mrs.  Veal." 

She  said  that  these  subterranean  people  kept 
house,  and  that  they  invited  her  down  to  play  with 
their  children  on  Wednesday  and  Saturday  after 
noons  ;  also  that  they  sometimes  left  a  plate  of 
cakes  and  tarts  for  her  at  their  door :  she  offered 
to  show  me  the  very  spot  where  it  was,  —  under  a 
great  apple-tree  which  my  brothers  called  "the 
luncheon-tree,"  because  we  used  to  rest  and  re 
fresh  ourselves  there,  when  we  helped  my  father 
weed  his  vegetable-garden.  But  she  guarded  her- 


80  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

self  by  informing  me  that  it  would  be  impossible 
for  us  to  open  the  door  ourselves ;  that  it  could 
only  be  unfastened  from  the  inside.  She  told  me 
these  people's  names  —  a  "Mr.  Pelican,"  and  a 
"  Mr.  Apple-tree  Manasseh,"  who  had  a  very 
large  family  of  little  "Manassehs."  She  said 
•  that  there  was  a  still  larger  family,  some  of  them 
probably  living  just  under  the  spot  where  we  sat, 
whose  sirname  was  "Hokes."  (If  either  of  us 
had  been  familiar  with  another  word  pronounced 
in  the  same  way,  though  spelled  differently,  I 
should  since  have  thought  that  she  was  all  the 
time  laughing  in  her  sleeve  at  my  easy  belief.) 
These  "  Hokeses  "  were  not  good-natured  people, 
she  added,  whispering  to  me  that  we  must  no 
speak  about  them  aloud,  as  they  had  sharp  ears, 
and  might  overhear  us,  and  do  us  mischief. 

I  think  she  was  hoaxing  herself  as  well  as  me  ; 
it  was  her  way  of  being  a  heroine  in  her  own  eyes 
and  mine,  and  she  had  always  the  manner  of 
being  entirely  in  earnest. 

But  she  became  more  and  more  romantic  in 
her  inventions.  A  distant  aristocratic -looking 
mansion,  which  we  could  see  half-hidden  by  trees, 
across  the  river,  she  assured  me  was  a  haunted 
house,  and  that  she  had  passed  many  a  night  there, 
seeing  unaccountable  sights,  and  hearing  mysteri* 
ous  sounds.  She  further  announced  that  she  was 
to  be  married,  some  time,  to  a  young  man  who 
lived  over  there.  I  inferred  that  the  marriage 


NAUGHTY  CHILDREN  AND  FAIRY  TALES.    81 

was  to  take  place  whenever  the  ghostly  tenants 
of  the  house  would  give  their  consent.  She  re 
vealed  to  me,  under  promise  of  strict  secrecy, 
the  young  man's  name.  It  was  "  Alonzo." 

Not  long  after  I  picked  up  a  book  which  one  of 
my  sisters  had  borrowed,  called  "  Alonzo  and  Me 
lissa,"  and  I  discovered  that  she  had  been  telling 
me  page  after  page  of  "  Melissa's  "  adventures, 
as  if  they  were  her  own.  The  fading  memory  I 
have  of  the  book  is  that  it  was  a  very  silly  one ; 
and  when  I  discovered  that  the  rest  of  the  roman 
tic  occurrences  she  had  related,  not  in  that  vol 
ume,  were  to  be  found  in  "  The  Children  of  the 
Abbey,"  I  left  off  listening  to  her.  I  do  not 
think  I  regarded  her  stories  as  lies ;  I  only  lost 
my  interest  in  them  after  I  knew  that  they  were 
all  of  her  own  clumsy  second-hand  making-up,  out 
of  the  most  commonplace  material. 

My  two  brothers  liked  to  play  upon  my  cre 
dulity.  When  my  brother  Ben  pointed  up  to  the 
gilded  weather-cock  on  the  Old  South  steeple,  and 
said  to  me  with  a  very  grave  face,  — 

"  Did  you  know  that  whenever  that  cock  crows 
every  rooster  in  town  crows  too  ?  "  I  listened  oufc 
at  the  window,  and  asked,  — 

"  But  when  will  he  begin  to  crow  ?  " 

"  Oh,  roosters  crow  in  the  night,  sometimes, 
when  you  are  asleep.'* 

Then  my  younger  brother  would  break  in  with 
a  shout  of  delight  at  my  stupidity :  — 


82  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  when,  goosie !  — 

*  The  next  day  after  never  ; 
When  the  dead  ducks  fly  over  the  river.'  " 

But  this  must  have  been  when  I  was  very  small ; 
for  I  remember  thinking  that  "  the  next  day 
after  never  "  would  come  some  time,  in  millions  of 
years,  perhaps.  And  how  queer  it  would  be  to 
see  dead  ducks  flying  through  the  air ! 

Witches  were  seldom  spoken  of  in  the  pres 
ence  of  us  children.  We  sometimes  overheard  a 
snatch  of  a  witch-story,  told  in  whispers,  by  the 
flickering  firelight,  just  as  we  were  being  sent  off 
to  bed.  But,  to  the  older  people,  those  legends  were 
too  much  like  realities,  and  they  preferred  not 
to  repeat  them.  Indeed,  it  was  over  our  town 
that  the  last  black  shadow  of  the  dreadful  witch 
craft  delusion  had  rested.  Mistress  Hale's  house 
was  just  across  the  burying-ground,  and  Gallows 
Hill  was  only  two  miles  away,  beyond  the  bridge. 
Yet  I  never  really  knew  what  the  "  Salem  Witch 
craft  "  was  until  Goodrich's  "  History  of  the 
United  States  "  was  put  into  my  hands  as  a  school- 
book,  and  I  read  about  it  there. 

Elves  and  gnomes  and  air-sprites  and  genii 
were  no  strangers  to  us,  for  my  sister  Emilie  — 
she  who  heard  me  say  my  hymns,  and  taught  me 
to  write  — was  mistress  of  an  almost  limitless 
fund  of  imaginative  lore.  She  was  a  very  Sche- 
herezade  of  story-tellers,  so  her  younger  sisters 
thought,  who  listened  to  her  while  twilight  grew 


NAUGHTY  CHILDREN  AND  FAIRY  TALES.    83 

into  moonlight,  evening  after  evening,  with  fasci 
nated  wakefulness. 

Besides  the  tales  that  the  child-world  of  all 
ages  is  familiar  with,  —  Red  Riding  -  Hood,  the 
Giant-Killer,  Cinderella,  Aladdin,  the  "Sleeping 
Beauty,"  and  the  rest,  —  she  had  picked  up  some 
where  most  of  the  folk -stories  of  Ireland  and 
Scotland,  and  also  the  wild  legends  of  Germany, 
which  latter  were  not  then  made  into  the  compact 
volumes  known  among  juvenile  readers  of  to-day 
as  Grimm's  "  Household  Tales." 

Her  choice  was  usually  judicious ;  she  omitted 
the  ghosts  and  goblins  that  would  have  haunted 
our  dreams ;  although  I  was  now  and  then  vis 
ited  by  a  nightmare  -  consciousness  of  being  a 
bewitched  princess  who  must  perform  some  im 
possible  task,  such  as  turning  a  whole  roomful  of 
straws  into  gold,  one  by  one,  or  else  lose  my  head. 
But  she  blended  the  humorous  with  the  romantic 
in  her  selections,  so  that  we  usually  dropped  to 
sleep  in  good  spirits,  if  not  with  a  laugh. 

That  old  story  of  the  fisherman  who  had  done 
the  "  Man  of  the  Sea  "  a  favor,  and  was  to  be  re 
warded  by  having  his  wish  granted,  she  told  in  so 
quaintly  realistic  a  way  that  I  thought  it  might  all 
have  happened  on  one  of  the  islands  out  in  Massa 
chusetts  Bay.  The  fisherman  was  foolish  enough, 
it  seemed,  to  let  his  wife  do  all  his  wishing  for 
him ;  and  she,  unsatisfied  still,  though  she  had 
been  made  first  an  immensely  rich  woman,  and 


84  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

then  a  great  queen,  at  last  sent  her  husband  to 
ask  that  they  two  might  be  made  rulers  over  the 
sun,  moon,  and  stars. 

As  my  sister  went  on  with  the  story,  I  could 
see  the  waves  grow  black,  and  could  hear  the 
wind  mutter  and  growl,  while  the  fisherman  called 
for  the  first,  second,  and  then  reluctantly,  for  the 
third  time :  — 

"  O  Man  of  the  Sea, 
Come  listen  to  me ! 
For  Alice  my  wife, 
The  plague  of  my  life, 
Has  sent  me  to  beg  a  boon  of  thee  !  " 

As  his  call  died  away  on  the  sullen  wind,  the 
mysterious  "  Man  of  the  Sea  "  rose  in  his  wrath 
out  of  the  billows,  and  said,  — 

"  Go  back  to  your  old  mud  hut,  and  stay  there 
with  your  wife  Alice,  and  never  come  to  trouble 
me  again." 

I  sympathized  with  the  "  Man  of  the  Sea  "  in 
his  righteous  indignation  at  the  conduct  of  the 
greedy,  grasping  woman ;  and  the  moral  of  the 
story  remained  with  me,  as  the  story  itself  did. 
1  think  I  understood  dimly,  even  then,  that  mean 
avarice  and  self-seeking  ambition  always  find 
their  true  level  in  muddy  earth,  never  among  the 
stars. 

So  it  proved  that  my  dear  mother-sister  was 
preparing  me  for  life  when  she  did  not  know  it, 
when  she  thought  she  was  only  amusing  me. 

This  sister,  though  only  just  entering  her  teens, 


NAUGHTY  CHILDREN  AND  FAIRY  TALES.  85 

was  toughening  herself  by  all  sorts  of  unnecessary 
hardships  for  whatever  might  await  her  woman 
hood.  She  used  frequently  to  sleep  in  the  garret 
on  a  hard  wooden  sea-chest  instead  of  in  a  bed. 
And  she  would  get  up  before  daylight  and  run 
over  into  the  burying  -  ground,  barefooted  and 
white-robed  (we  lived  for  two  or  three  years  in 
another  house  than  our  own,  where  the  oldest 
graveyard  in  town  was  only  separated  from  us 
by  our  garden  fence),  "  to  see  if  there  were  any 
ghosts  there,"  she  told  us.  Returning  noiselessly, 
—  herself  a  smiling  phantom,  with  long,  golden- 
brown  hair  rippling  over  her  shoulders,  —  she 
would  drop  a  trophy  upon  her  little  sisters'  pil 
low,  in  the  shape  of  a  big,  yellow  apple  that  had 
dropped  from  "the  Colonel's"  "pumpkin  sweet 
ing  "  tree  into  the  graveyard,  close  to  our  fence. 

She  was  fond  of  giving  me  surprises,  of  watch 
ing  my  wonder  at  seeing  anything  beautiful  OP 
strange  for  the  first  time.  Once,  when  I  was  very- 
little,  she  made  me  supremely  happy  by  rousing  me 
before  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  dressing  me 
hurriedly,  and  taking  me  out  with  her  for  a  walk 
across  the  graveyard  and  through  the  dewy  fields. 
The  birds  were  singing,  and  the  sun  was  just  ris 
ing,  and  we  were  walking  toward  the  east,  hand  in 
hand,  when  suddenly  there  appeared  before  us 
what  looked  to  me  like  an  immense  blue  wall, 
stretching  right  and  left  as  far  as  I  could  see. 

"Oh,  what  is  it  the  wall  of  ?  "  I  cried. 


86  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

It  was  a  revelation  she  had  meant  for  me. 
"  So  you  did  not  know  it  was  the  sea,  little  girl !  n 
she  said. 

It  was  a  wonderful  illusion  to  my  unaccustomed 
eyes,  and  I  took  in  at  that  moment  for  the  first 
time  something  of  the  real  grandeur  of  the  ocean. 
Not  a  sail  was  in  sight,  and  the  blue  expanse  was 
scarcely  disturbed  by  a  ripple,  for  it  was  the  high- 
tide  calm.  That  morning's  freshness,  that  vision 
of  the  sea,  I  know  I  can  never  lose. 

From  our  garret  window  —  and  the  garret  was 
my  usual  retreat  when  I  wanted  to  get  away  by 
myself  with  my  books  or  my  dreams  —  we  had  the 
distant  horizon-line  of  the  bay,  across  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  of  trees  and  mowing  fields.  We  could 
see  the  white  breakers  dashing  against  the  long, 
narrow  island  just  outside  of  the  harbor,  which  I, 
with  my  childish  misconstruction  of  names,  called 
"  Breakers'  Island " ;  supposing  that  the  grown 
people  had  made  a  mistake  when  they  spoke  of  it 
as  "  Baker's."  But  that  far-off,  shining  band  of 
silver  and  blue  seemed  so  different  from  the  whole 
great  sea,  stretching  out  as  if  into  eternity  from 
the  feet  of  the  baby  on  the  shore ! 

The  marvel  was  not  lessened  when  I  began  to 
study  geography,  and  comprehended  that  the  world 
is  round.  Could  it  really  be  that  we  had  that 
endless  "  Atlantic  Ocean "  to  look  at  from  our 
window,  to  dance  along  the  edge  of,  to  wade  into 
or  bathe  in,  if  we  chose  ?  The  map  of  the  world 


NAUGHTY  CHILDREN  AND  FAIRY  TALES.    87 

became  more  interesting  to  me  than  any  of  the 
story-books.  In  my  fanciful  explorations  I  out- 
traveled  Captain  Cook,  the  only  voyager  around 
the  world  with  whose  name  my  childhood  was  fa 
miliar. 

The  field -paths  were  safe,  and  I  was  allowed 
to  wander  off  alone  through  them.  I  greatly  en 
joyed  the  freedom  of  a  solitary  explorer  among 
the  sea-shells  and  wild  flowers. 

There  were  wonders  everywhere.  One  day  I 
picked  up  a  star-fish  on  the  beach  (we  called  it  a 
"five-finger"),  and  hung  him  on  a  tree  to  dry, 
not  thinking  of  him  as  a  living  creature.  When 
I  went  some  time  after  to  take  him  down  he  had 
clasped  with  two  or  three  of  his  fingers  the  bough 
where  I  laid  him,  so  that  he  could  not  be  removed 
without  breaking  his  hardened  shell.  My  con 
science  smote  me  when  I  saw  what  an  unhappy- 
looking  skeleton  I  had  made  of  him. 

I  overtook  the  horse-shoe  crab  on  the  sands, 
but  I  did  not  like  to  turn  him  over  and  make  him 
"  say  his  prayers,"  as  some  of  the  children  did. 
I  thought  it  must  be  wicked.  And  then  he  looked 
so  uncomfortable,  imploringly  wriggling  his  claws 
while  he  lay  upon  his  back  !  I  believe  I  did,  how 
ever,  make  a  small  collection  of  the  shells  of 
stranded  horse-shoe  crabs  deserted  by  their  ten 
ants. 

There  were  also  pretty  canary-colored  cockle 
shells  and  tiny  purple  mussels  washed  up  by  the 


88  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

tide.  I  gathered  them  into  my  apron,  and  carried 
them  home,  and  only  learned  that  they  too  held 
living  inhabitants  by  seeing  a  dead  snail  protrud 
ing  from  every  shell  after  they  had  been  left  to 
themselves  for  a  day  or  two.  This  made  me  care 
ful  to  pick  up  only  the  empty  ones,  and  there 
were  plenty  of  them.  One  we  called  a  "  butter 
boat  " ;  it  had  something  shaped  like  a  seat  across 
the  end  of  it  on  the  inside.  And  the  curious  sea- 
urchin,  that  looked  as  if  he  was  made  only  for  or 
nament,  when  he  had  once  got  rid  of  his  spines, — 
and  the  transparent  jelly-fish,  that  seemed  to  have 
no  more  right  to  be  alive  than  a  ladleful  of  mu 
cilage,  —  and  the  razor-shells,  and  the  barnacles, 
and  the  knotted  kelp,  and  the  flabby  green  sea- 
aprons,  —  there  was  no  end  to  the  interesting 
things  I  found  when  I  was  trusted  to  go  down  to 
the  edge  of  the  tide  alone. 

The  tide  itself  was  the  greatest  marvel,  slipping 
away  so  noiselessly,  and  creeping  back  so  softly 
over  the  flats,  whispering  as  it  reached  the  sands, 
and  laughing  aloud  "  I  am  coming  I  "  as,  dashing 
against  the  rocks,  it  drove  me  back  to  where  the 
sea-lovage  and  purple  beach-peas  had  dared  to 
root  themselves.  I  listened,  and  felt  through  all 
my  little  being  that  great,  surging  word  of  power, 
but  had  no  guess  of  its  meaning.  I  can  think  of 
it  now  as  the  eternal  voice  of  Law,  ever  returning 
to  the  green,  blossoming,  beautiful  verge  of  Gos 
pel  truth,  to  confirm  its  later  revelation,  and  to  say 


NAUGHTY  CHILDREN  AND  FAIRY  TALES.    89 

that  Law  and  Gospel  belong  together.  "  The  sea 
is  His,  and  He  made  it :  and  His  hands  formed 
the  dry  land." 

And  the  dry  land,  the  very  dust  of  the  earth, 
every  day  revealed  to  me  some  new  miracle  of  a 
flower.  Coming  home  from  school  one  warm  noon, 
I  chanced  to  look  down,  and  saw  for  the  first  time 
the  dry  roadside  all  starred  with  lavender-tinted 
flowers,  scarcely  larger  than  a  pin  -  head ;  fairy- 
flowers,  indeed  ;  prettier  than  anything  that  grew 
in  gardens.  It  was  the  red  sand-wort ;  but  why 
a  purple  flower  should  be  called  red,  I  do  not 
know.  I  remember  holding  these  little  amethys 
tine  blossoms  like  jewels  in  the  palm  of  my  hand, 
and  wondering  whether  people  who  walked  along 
that  road  knew  what  beautiful  things  they  were 
treading  upon.  I  never  found  the  flower  open 
except  at  noonday,  when  the  sun  was  hottest. 
The  rest  of  the  time  it  was  nothing  but  an  in 
significant,  dusty-leaved  weed,  —  a  weed  that  was 
transformed  into  a  flower  only  for  an  hour  or  two 
every  day.  It  seemed  like  magic. 

The  busy  people  at  home  could  tell  me  very 
little  about  the  wild  flowers,  and  when  I  found  a 
new  one  I  thought  I  was  its  discoverer.  I  can 
see  myself  now  leaning  in  ecstasy  over  a  small, 
rough-leaved  purple  aster  in  a  lonely  spot  on  the 
hill,  and  thinking  that  nobody  else  in  all  the 
world  had  ever  beheld  such  a  flower  before,  be 
cause  I  never  had.  I  did  not  know  then,  that 


90  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

the  flower-generations  are  older  than  the  human 
race. 

The  commonest  blossoms  were,  after  all,  the 
dearest,  because  they  were  so  familiar.  Very  few 
of  us  lived  upon  carpeted  floors,  but  soft  green 
grass  stretched  away  from  our  door-steps,  all 
golden  with  dandelions  in  spring.  Those  dande 
lion  fields  were  like  another  heaven  dropped  down 
upon  the  earth,  where  our  feet  wandered  at  will 
among  the  stars.  What  need  had  we  of  luxuri 
ous  upholstery,  when  we  could  step  out  into  such 
splendor,  from  the  humblest  door  ? 

The  dandelions  could  tell  us  secrets,  too.  We 
blew  the  fuzz  off  their  gray  heads,  and  made 
them  answer  our  question,  "  Does  my  mother 
want  me  to  come  home  ?  "  Or  we  sat  down  to 
gether  in  the  velvety  grass,  and  wove  chains  for 
our  necks  and  wrists  of  the  dandelion-stems,  and 
"  made  believe  "  we  were  brides,  or  queens,  or 
empresses. 

Then  there  was  the  white  rock-saxifrage,  that 
filled  the  crevices  of  the  ledges  with  soft,  tufty 
bloom  like  lingering  snow-drifts,  our  May-flower, 
that  brought  us  the  first  message  of  spring.  There 
was  an  elusive  sweetness  in  its  almost  impercep 
tible  breath,  which  one  could  only  get  by  smelling 
it  in  close  bunches.  Its  companion  was  the  tiny 
four-cleft  innocence-flower,  that  drifted  pale  sky- 
tints  across  the  chilly  fields.  Both  came  to  us  in 
crowds,  and  looked  out  with  us,  as  they  do  with 


NAUGHTY  CHILDREN  AND  FAIRY  TALES.    91 

the  small  girls  and  boys  of  to-day,  from  the  windy 
crest  of  Powder  House  Hill,  —  the  one  playground 
of  my  childhood  which  is  left  to  the  children  and 
the  cows  just  as  it  was  then.  We  loved  these 
little  democratic  blossoms,  that  gathered  around 
us  in  mobs  at  our  May  Day  rejoicings.  It  is 
doubtful  whether  we  should  have  loved  the  trail 
ing  arbutus  any  better,  had  it  strayed,  as  it  never 
did,  into  our  woods. 

Violets  and  anemones  played  at  hide-and-seek 
with  us  in  shady  places.  The  gay  columbine 
rooted  herself  among  the  bleak  rocks,  and 
laughed  and  nodded  in  the  face  of  the  east  wind, 
coquettishly  wasting  the  show  of  her  finery  on 
the  frowning  air.  Bluebirds  twittered  over  the 
dandelions  in  spring.  In  midsummer,  goldfinches 
warbled  among  the  thistle-tops ;  and,  high  above 
the  bird  -  congregations,  the  song -sparrow  sent 
forth  her  clear,  warm,  penetrating  trill,  —  sun 
shine  translated  into  music. 

We  were  not  surfeited,  in  those  days,  with 
what  is  called  pleasure ;  but  we  grew  up  happy 
and  healthy,  learning  unconsciously  the  useful 
lesson  of  doing  without.  The  birds  and  blos 
soms  hardly  won  a  gladder  or  more  wholesome  life 
from  the  air  of  our  homely  New  England  than 
we  did. 

"  Out  of  the  strong  came  forth  sweetness." 
The  Beatitudes  are  the  natural  flowering-forth 
of  the  Ten  Commandments,  And  the  happiness 


92  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

of  our  lives  was  rooted  in  the  stern,  vigorous  vir 
tues  of  the  people  we  lived  among,  drawing 
thence  its  bloom  and  song  and  fragrance.  There 
was  granite  in  their  character  and  beliefs,  but  it 
was  granite  that  could  smile  in  the  sunshine  and 
clothe  itself  with  flowers.  We  little  ones  felt  the 
firm  rock  beneath  us,  and  were  lifted  up  on  it,  to 
emulate  their  goodness,  and  to  share  their  aspi 
rations. 


V. 

OLD   NEW  ENGLAND. 

WHEN  I  first  opened  my  eyes  upon  my  native 
town,  it  was  already  nearly  two  hundred  years  old, 
counting  from  the  time  when  it  was  part  of  the 
original  Salem  settlement,  —  old  enough  to  have 
gained  a  character  and  an  individuality  of  its  own, 
as  it  certainly  had.  We  children  felt  at  once  that 
we  belonged  to  the  town,  as  we  did  to  our  father 
or  our  mother. 

The  sea  was  its  nearest  neighbor,  and  pene 
trated  to  every  fireside,  claiming  close  intimacy 
with  every  home  and  heart.  The  farmers  up  and 
down  the  shore  were  as  much  fishermen  as  farm 
ers  ;  they  were  as  familiar  with  the  Grand  Banks 
of  Newfoundland  as  they  were  with  their  own 
potato-fields.  Every  third  man  you  met  in  the 
street,  you  might  safely  hail  as  "  Shipmate,"  or 
"  Skipper,"  or  "  Captain."  My  father's  early  sea 
faring  experience  gave  him  the  latter  title  to  the 
end  of  his  life. 

It  was  hard  to  keep  the  boys  from  going  off 
to  sea  before  they  were  grown.  No  inland  oc 
cupation  attracted  them.  "  Land  -  lubber  "  was 
one  of  the  most  contemptuous  epithets  heard  from 


94  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

boyish  lips.  The  spirit  of  adventure  developed 
in  them  a  rough,  breezy  type  of  manliness,  now 
almost  extinct. 

Men  talked  about  a  voyage  to  Calcutta,  or 
Hong-Kong,  or  "up  the  Straits,"  —  meaning  Gi 
braltar  and  the  Mediterranean,  —  as  if  it  were  not 
much  more  than  going  to  the  next  village.  It 
seemed  as  if  our  nearest  neighbors  lived  over 
there  across  the  water;  we  breathed  the  air  of 
foreign  countries,  curiously  interblended  with  our 
own. 

The  women  of  well-to-do  families  had  Canton 
crape  shawls  and  Smyrna  silks  and  Turk  satins, 
for  Sabbath-day  wear,  which  somebody  had 
brought  home  for  them.  Mantel  -  pieces  were 
adorned  with  nautilus  and  conch-shells,  and  with 
branches  and  fans  of  coral ;  and  children  had 
foreign  curiosities  and  treasures  of  the  sea  for 
playthings.  There  was  one  imported  shell  that 
we  did  not  value  much,  it  was  so  abundant  —  the 
freckled  univalve  they  called  a  "  prop."  Yet  it 
had  a  mysterious  interest  for  us  little  ones.  We 
held  it  to  our  ears,  and  listened  for  the  sound 
of  the  waves,  which  we  were  told  that  it  still 
kept,  and  always  would  keep.  I  remember  the 
time  when  I  thought  that  the  ocean  was  really 
imprisoned  somewhere  within  that  narrow  aper 
ture. 

We  were  accustomed  to  seeing  barrels  full  of 
cocoa-nuts  rolled  about ;  and  there  were  jars  of 


OLD  NEW  ENGLAND.  95 

preserved  tropical  fruits,  tamarinds,  ginger-root, 
and  other  spicy  appetizers,  almost  as  common  as 
barberries  and  cranberries,  in  the  cupboards  of 
most  housekeepers. 

I  wonder  what  has  become  of  those  many, 
many  little  red  "  guinea-peas  "  we  had  to  play 
with !  It  never  seemed  as  if  they  really  belonged 
to  the  vegetable  world,  notwithstanding  their 
name. 

We  had  foreign  coins  mixed  in  with  our 
large  copper  cents,  —  all  kinds,  from  the  Russian 
"kopeck"  to  the  "half-penny  token"  of  Great 
Britain.  Those  were  the  days  when  we  had  half 
cents  in  circulation  to  make  change  with.  For 
part  of  our  currency  was  the  old-fashioned  "  nine- 
pence,"  —  twelve  and  a  half  cents,  and  the  "  four 
pence  ha'penny,"  —  six  cents  and  a  quarter. 
There  was  a  good  deal  of  Old  England  about  us 
stiU. 

And  we  had  also  many  living  reminders  of 
strange  lands  across  the  sea.  Green  parrots  went 
scolding  and  laughing  down  the  thimbleberry 
hedges  that  bordered  the  cornfields,  as  much  at 
home  out  of  doors  as  within.  Java  sparrows  and 
canaries  and  other  tropical  song-birds  poured  their 
music  out  of  sunny  windows  into  the  street,  de 
lighting  the  ears  of  passing  school  children  long 
before  the  robins  came.  Now  and  then  some 
body's  pet  monkey  would  escape  along  the  stone 
walls  and  shed-roofs,  and  try  to  hide  from  his 


96  A  NEW  ENGLAND   GIRLHOOD. 

boy-persecutors  by  dodging  behind  a  chimney,  or 
by  slipping  through  an  open  scuttle,  to  the  terror 
and  delight  of  juveniles  whose  premises  he  in 
vaded. 

And  there  were  wanderers  from  foreign  coun 
tries  domesticated  in  many  families,  whose  swarthy 
complexions  and  un-Caucasian  features  became 
familiar  in  our  streets,  —  Mongolians,  Africans, 
and  waifs  from  the  Pacific  islands,  who  always 
were  known  to  us  by  distinguished  names,  — 
Hector  and  Scipio,  and  Julius  Caesar  and  Chris 
topher  Columbus.  Families  of  black  people  were 
scattered  about  the  place,  relics  of  a  time  when 
even  New  England  had  not  freed  her  slaves. 
Some  of  them  had  belonged  in  my  great-grand 
father's  family,  and  they  hung  about  the  old 
homestead  at  "  The  Farms"  long  after  they  were 
at  liberty  to  go  anywhere  they  pleased.  There 
was  a  "  Rose  "  and  a  "  Phillis  "  among  them,  who 
came  often  to  our  house  to  bring  luscious  high 
blackberries  from  the  Farms  woods,  or  to  do  the 
household  washing.  They  seemed  pathetically 
out  of  place,  although  they  lived  among  us  on 
equal  terms,  respectable  and  respected. 

The  pathos  of  the  sea  haunted  the  town,  made 
audible  to  every  ear  when  a  coming  northeaster 
brought  the  rote  of  the  waves  in  from  the  islands 
across  the  harbor-bar,  with  a  moaning  like  that 
we  heard  when  we  listened  for  it  in  the  shell. 
Almost  every  house  had  its  sea-tragedy.  Some- 


OLD  NEW  ENGLAND.  97 

body  belonging  to  it  had  been  shipwrecked,  or 
had  sailed  away  one  day,  and  never  returned. 

Our  own  part  of  the  bay  was  so  sheltered  by 
its  islands  that  there  were  seldom  any  disasters 
heard  of  near  home,  although  the  names  of  the 
two  nearest  —  Great  and  Little  Misery  —  are 
said  to  have  originated  with  a  shipwreck  so  far 
back  in  the  history  of  the  region  that  it  was  never 
recorded. 

But  one  such  calamity  happened  in  my  infancy, 
spoken  of  always  by  those  who  knew  its  victims 
in  subdued  tones ;  —  the  wreck  of  the  "  Persia." 
The  vessel  was  returning  from  the  Mediterra 
nean,  and  in  a  blinding  snow-storm  on  a  wild 
March  night  her  captain  probably  mistook  one  of 
the  Cape  Ann  light-houses  for  that  on  Baker's 
Island,  and  steered  straight  upon  the  rocks  in  a 
lonely  cove  just  outside  the  cape.  In  the  morn 
ing  the  bodies  of  her  dead  crew  were  found  toss 
ing  about  with  her  cargo  of  paper-manufacturers* 
rags,  among  the  breakers.  Her  captain  and  mate 
were  Beverly  men,  and  their  funeral  from  the 
meeting-house  the  next  Sabbath  was  an  event 
which  long  left  its  solemnity  hanging  over  the 
town. 

We  were  rather  a  young  nation  at  this  time. 
The  History  of  the  United  States  could  only  tell 
the  story  of  the  American  Revolution,  of  the  War 
of  1812,  and  of  the  administration  of  about  half 
a  dozen  presidents. 


98  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

Our  republicanism  was  fresh  and  wide-awake. 
The  edge  of  George  Washington's  little  hatchet 
had  not  yet  been  worn  down  to  its  latter-day  dull 
ness  ;  it  flashed  keenly  on  our  young  eyes  and  ears 
in  the  reading  books,  and  through  Fourth  of  July 
speeches.  The  Father  of  his  Country  had  been 
dead  only  a  little  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century, 
and  General  Lafayette  was  still  alive;  he  had, 
indeed,  passed  through  our  town  but  a  few  years 
before,  and  had  been  publicly  welcomed  under  our 
own  elms  and  lindens.  Even  babies  echoed  the 
names  of  our  two  heroes  in  their  prattle. 

We  had  great  "  training-days,"  when  drum  and 
fife  took  our  ears  by  storm;  when  the  militia 
and  the  Light  Infantry  mustered  and  marched 
through  the  streets  to  the  Common,  with  boys 
and  girls  at  their  heela,-*2—  such  girls  as  could  get 
their  mother's  consent,  or  the  courage  to  run  off 
without  it.  We  never  could.  But  we  always 
managed  to  get  a  good  look  at  the  show  in  one 
way  or  another. 

"  Old  Election,"  "  'Lection  Day  "  we  called  it, 
a  lost  holiday  now,  was  a  general  training  day, 
and  it  came  at  our  most  delightful  season,  the 
last  of  May.  Lilacs  and  tulips  were  in  bloom, 
then ;  and  it  was  a  picturesque  fashion  of  the  time 
for  little  girls  whose  parents  had  no  flower-gar 
dens  to  go  around  begging  a  bunch  of  lilacs,  or 
a  tulip  or  two.  My  mother  always  made  "  'Lection 
cake  "  for  us  on  that  day.  It  was  nothing  but  a 


OLD  NEW  ENGLAND.  99 

kind  of  sweetened  bread  with  a  shine  of  egg-and* 
molasses  on  top ;  but  we  thought  it  delicious. 

The  Fourth  of  July  and  Thanksgiving  Day 
were  the  only  other  holidays  that  we  made  much 
account  of,  and  the  former  was  a  far  more  well- 
behaved  festival  than  it  is  in  modern  times.  The 
bells  rang  without  stint,  and  at  morning  and 
noon  cannon  were  fired  off.  But  torpedoes  and 
fire-crackers  did  not  make  the  highways  danger 
ous  ;  —  perhaps  they  were  thought  too  expensive 
an  amusement.  Somebody  delivered  an  oration ; 
there  was  a  good  deal  said  about  "  this  universal 
Yankee  nation " ;  some  rockets  went  up  from 
Salem  in  the  evening  ;  we  watched  them  from  the 
hill,  and  then  went  to  bed,  feeling  that  we  had 
been  good  patriots. 

There  was  always  a  Fast  Day,  which  I  am 
afraid  most  of  us  younger  ones  regarded  merely 
as  a  day  when  we  were  to  eat  unlimited  quantities 
of  molasses-gingerbread,  instead  of  sitting  down 
to  our  regular  meals. 

"When  I  read  about  Christmas  in  the  English 
story-books,  I  wished  we  could  have  that  beauti 
ful  holiday.  But  our  Puritan  fathers  shook  their 
heads  at  Christmas. 

Our  Sabbath-school  library  books  were  nearly 
all  English  reprints,  and  many  of  the  story-books 
were  very  interesting.  I  think  that  most  of  my 
favorites  were  by  Mrs.  Sherwood.  Some  of  them 
were  about  life  in  India,  —  "Little  Henry  and 


100          A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

his  Bearer,"  and  "  Ayah  and  Lady."  Then  there 
were  "The  Hedge  of  Thorns  ;  "  "  Theophilus  and 
Sophia ; "  "  Anna  Ross,"  and  a  whole  series  of 
little  English  books  that  I  took  great  delight  in. 

I  had  begun  to  be  rather  introspective  and  some 
what  unhealthily  self-critical,  contrasting  myself 
meanwhile  with  xny  sister  Lida,  just  a  little  older, 
who  was  my  usual  playmate,  and  whom  I  admired 
very  much  for  what  I  could  not  help  seeing,  — 
her  unusual  sweetness  of  disposition.  I  read  Mrs. 
Sherwood's  "Infant's  Progress,"  and  I  made  a 
personal  application  of  it,  picturing  myself  as  the 
naughty,  willful  "  Playful,"  and  my  sister  Lida 
as  the  saintly  little  "  Peace." 

This  book  gave  me  a  morbid,  unhappy  feeling, 
while  yet  it  had  something  of  the  fascination  of 
the  "  Pilgrim's  Progress,"  of  which  it  is  an  imita 
tion.  I  fancied  myself  followed  about  by  a  fiend- 
like  boy  who  haunted  its  pages,  called  "  Inbred- 
Sin  ; "  and  the  story  implied  that  there  was  no  such 
thing  as  getting  rid  of  him.  I  began  to  dislike 
all  boys  on  his  account.  There  was  one  who  tor 
mented  my  sister  and  me  —  we  only  knew  him 
by  name  —  by  jumping  out  at  us  from  behind 
doorways  or  fences  on  our  way  to  school,  mak 
ing  horrid  faces  at  us.  "  Inbred-Sin,"  I  was  cer 
tain,  looked  just  like  him ;  and  the  two,  strangely 
blended  in  one  hideous  presence,  were  the  worst 
nightmare  of  my  dreams.  There  was  too  much 
reality  about  that  "  Inbred-Sin."  I  felt  that  I 


OLD  NE  W  ENGLAND.   '  101 

was  acquainted  with  him.  He  was  the  hateful 
hero  of  the  little  allegory,  as  Satan  is  of  "  Para 
dise  Lost." 

I  liked  lessons  that  came  to  me  through  fables 
and  fairy  tales,  although,  in  reading  ^Esop,  I  in 
variably  skipped  the  "  moral "  pinned  on  at  the 
end,  and  made  one  for  myself,  or  else  did  without. 

Mrs.  Lydia  Maria  Child's  story  of  "  The  Im 
mortal  Fountain,"  in  the  "  Girl's  Own  Book,"  — 
which  it  was  the  joy  of  my  heart  to  read,  although 
it  preached  a  searching  sermon  to  me,  —  I  applied 
in  the  same  way  that  I  did  the  "  Infant's  Prog 
ress."  I  thought  of  Lida  as  the  gentle,  unselfish 
Eose,  and  myself  as  the  ugly  Marion.  She  was 
patient  and  obliging,  and  I  felt  that  I  was  the  re 
verse.  She  was  considered  pretty,  and  I  knew  that 
I  was  the  reverse  of  that,  too.  I  wondered  if  Lida 
really  had  bathed  in  the  Immortal  Fountain,  and 
oh,  how  I  wished  /  could  find  the  way  there! 
But  I  feared  that  trying  to  do  so  would  be  of  no 
use ;  the  fairies  would  cross  their  wands  to  keep 
me  back,  and  their  wings  would  darken  at  my  ap 
proach. 

The  book  that  I  loved  first  and  best,  and  lived 
upon  in  my  childhood,  was  "  Pilgrim's  Progress." 
It  was  as  a  story  that  I  cared  for  it,  although  I 
knew  that  it  meant  something  more,  —  something 
that  was  already  going  on  in  my  own  heart  and 
life.  Oh,  how  I  used  to  wish  that  I  too  could 
start  off  on  a  pilgrimage  I  It  would  be  so  much 


1G2          -A:tiSW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

easier  than  the  continual,  discouraging  struggle  to 
be  good! 

The  lot  I  most  envied  was  that  of  the  contented 
Shepherd  Boy  in  the  Valley  of  Humiliation,  sing 
ing  his  cheerful  songs,  and  wearing  "the  herb  called 
Heart's  Ease  in  his  bosom  "  ;  but  all  the  glorious 
ups  and  downs  of  the  "  Progress  "  I  would  gladly 
have  shared  with  Christiana  and  her  children, 
never  desiring  to  turn  aside  into  any  "  By-Path 
Meadow "  while  Mr.  Great-Heart  led  the  way, 
and  the  Shining  Ones  came  down  to  meet  us  along 
the  road.  It  was  one  of  the  necessities  of  my 
nature,  as  a  child,  to  have  some  one  being,  real  or 
ideal,  man  or  woman,  before  whom  I  inwardly 
bowed  down  and  worshiped.  Mr.  Great-Heart 
was  the  perfect  hero  of  my  imagination.  Nobody, 
in  books  or  out  of  them,  compared  with  him.  I 
wondered  if  there  were  really  any  Mr.  Great- 
Hearts  to  be  met  with  among  living  men. 

I  remember  reading  this  beloved  book  once  in  a 
snow-storm,  and  looking  up  from  it  out  among  the 
white,  wandering  flakes,  with  a  feeling  that  they 
had  come  down  from  heaven  as  its  interpreters ; 
that  they  were  trying  to  tell  me,  in  their  airy  up- 
and-down-flight,  the  story  of  innumerable  souls. 
I  tried  to  fix  my  eye  on  one  particular  flake, 
and  to  follow  its  course  until  it  touched  the  earth. 
But  I  found  that  I  could  not.  A  little  breeze 
was  stirring,  and  the  flake  seemed  to  go  and  return, 
to  descend  and  then  ascend  again,  as  if  hastening 


OLD  NEW  ENGLAND,  108 

) 

homeward  to  the  sky,  losing  itself  at  last  in  the 
airy,  infinite  throng,  and  leaving  me  filled  with 
thoughts  of  that  "  great  multitude,  which  no  man 
could  number,  clothed  with  white  robes,"  crowding 
so  gloriously  into  the  closing  pages  of  the  Bible. 

Oh,  if  I  could  only  be  sure  that  I  should  some 
time  be  one  of  that  invisible  company !  But  the 
heavens  were  already  beginning  to  look  a  great 
way  off.  I  hummed  over  one  of  my  best  loved 
hymns,  — 

"  Who  are  these  in  bright  array  ?  " 

and  that  seemed  to  bring  them  nearer  again. 

The  history  of  the  early  martyrs,  the  persecu 
tions  of  the  Waldenses  and  of  the  Scotch  Cov 
enanters,  I  read  and  re-read  with  longing  emula 
tion  !  Why  could  not  I  be  a  martyr,  too  ?  It 
would  be  so  beautiful  to  die  for  the  truth  as  they 
did,  as  Jesus  did!  I  did  not  understand  then 
that  He  lived  and  died  to  show  us  what  life  really 
means,  and  to  give  us  true  life,  like  His,  —  the 
life  of  love  to  God  with  all  our  hearts,  of  love  to 
all  His  human  children  for  His  sake ;  —  and  that 
to  live  this  life  faithfully  is  greater  even  than  to 
die  a  martyr's  death. 

It  puzzled  me  to  know  what  some  of  the  talk 
I  heard  about  being  a  Christian  could  mean.  I 
saw  that  it  was  something  which  only  men  and 
women  could  comprehend.  And  yet  they  taught 
me  to  say  those  dear  words  of  the  Master,  "  Suffer 
the  little  children  to  come  unto  Me  I "  Surely 


104  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

He  meant  what  He  said.  He  did  not  tell  the  chil 
dren  that  they  must  receive  the  kingdom  of  God 
Eke  grown  people ;  He  said  that  everybody  must 
enter  into  it  "  as  a  little  child." 

But  our  fathers  were  stalwart  men,  with  many 
foes  to  encounter.  If  anybody  ever  needed  a 
grown-up  religion,  they  surely  did ;  and  it  became 
them  well. 

Most  of  our  every-day  reading  also  came  to  us 
over  the  sea.  Miss  Edgeworth's  juvenile  stories 
were  in  general  circulation,  and  we  knew  "  Harry 
and  Lucy"  and  "Rosamond"  almost  as  well  as 
we  did  our  own  playmates.  But  we  did  not  think 
those  English  children  had  so  good  a  time  as  we 
did ;  they  had  to  be  so  prim  and  methodical.  It 
seemed  to  us  that  the  little  folks  across  the  water 
never  were  allowed  to  romp  and  run  wild ;  some 
of  us  may  have  held  a  vague  idea  that  this  free 
dom  of  ours  was  the  natural  inheritance  of  re 
publican  children  only. 

Primroses  and  cowslips  and  daisies  bloomed  in 
these  pleasant  story-books  of  ours,  and  we  went 
a-Maying  there,  with  our  transatlantic  playmates. 
I  think  we  sometimes  started  off  with  our  baskets, 
expecting  to  find  those  English  flowers  in  our  own 
fields.  How  should  children  be  wiser  than  to  look 
for  every  beautiful  thing  they  have  heard  of,  on 
home  ground  ? 

And,  indeed,  our  commonest  field-flowers  were, 
many  of  them,  importations  from  the  mother- 


OLD  NEW  ENGLAND.  105 

country  —  clover,  and  dandelions,  and  ox-eye  dai 
sies.  I  was  delighted  when  my  mother  told  me 
one  day  that  a  yellow  flower  I  brought  her  was 
a  cowslip,  for  I  thought  she  meant  that  it  was  the 
genuine  English  cowslip,  which  I  had  read  about. 
I  was  disappointed  to  learn  that  it  was  a  native 
blossom,  the  marsh-marigold. 

My  sisters  had  some  books  that  I  appropriated 
to  myself  a  great  deal :  "  Paul  and  Virginia ; " 
"  Elizabeth,  or  the  Exiles  of  Siberia  ;  "  "  Nina  : 
an  Icelandic  Tale  ;  "  with  the  "  Vicar  of  Wake- 
field  ; "  the  "  Tour  to  the  Hebrides  ;  "  "  Gulliver's 
Travels  ;  "  the  "  Arabian  Nights  ;  "  and  some  odd 
volumes  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  novels. 

I  read  the  "  Scottish  Chiefs  "  —  my  first  novel 
—  when  I  was  about  five  years  old.  So  absorbed 
was  I  in  the  sorrows  of  Lady  Helen  Mar  and  Sir 
William  Wallace,  that  I  crept  into  a  corner  where 
nobody  would  notice  me,  and  read  on  through  sun 
set  into  moonlight,  with  eyes  blurred  with  tears. 
I  did  not  feel  that  I  was  doing  anything  wrong, 
for  I  had  heard  my  father  say  he  was  willing  his 
daughters  should  read  that  one  novel.  He  prob 
ably  did  not  intend  the  remark  for  the  ears  of 
his  youngest,  however. 

My  appetite  for  reading  was  omnivorous,  and 
I  devoured  a  great  many  romances.  My  sisters 
took  them  from  a  circulating  library,  many  more, 
perhaps,  than  came  to  my  parents'  knowledge ; 
but  it  was  not  often  that  one  escaped  me,  wher- 


106          A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

ever  it  was  hidden.  I  did  not  understand  what  I 
was  reading,  to  be  sure ;  and  that  was  one  of  the 
best  and  worst  things  about  it.  The  sentimen- 
talism  of  some  of  those  romances  was  altogether 
unchildlike ;  but  I  did  not  take  much  of  it  in.  It 
was  the  habit  of  running  over  pages  and  pages  to 
get  to  the  end  of  a  story,  the  habit  of  reading 
without  caring  what  I  read,  that  I  know  to  have 
been  bad  for  my  mind.  To  use  a  nautical  expres 
sion,  my  brain  was  in  danger  of  getting  "  water 
logged."  There  are  so  many  more  books  of  fic 
tion  written  nowadays,  I  do  not  see  how  the 
young  people  who  try  to  read  one  tenth  of  them 
have  any  brains  left  for  every-day  use. 

One  result  of  my  infantile  novel-reading  was 
that  I  did  not  like  to  look  at  my  own  face  in  a 
mirror,  because  it  was  so  unlike  that  of  heroines 
always  pictured  with  "  high  white  foreheads  "  and 
"cheeks  of  a  perfect  oval.'*  Mine  was  round, 
ruddy,  and  laughing  with  health ;  and,  though  I 
practiced  at  the  glass  a  good  deal,  I  could  not 
lengthen  it  by  puckering  down  my  lips.  I  quite 
envied  the  little  girls  who  were  pale  and  pensive- 
looking,  as  that  was  the  only  ladyfied  standard 
in  the  romances.  Of  course,  the  chief  pleasure  of 
reading  them  was  that  of  identifying  myself  with 
every  new  heroine.  They  began  to  call  me  a 
"  bookworm  "  at  home.  I  did  not  at  all  relish 
the  title. 

It  was  fortunate  for  me  that  I  liked  to  be  out 


OLD  NEW  ENGLAND.  107 

of  doors  a  great  deal,  and  that  I  had  a  brother, 
John,  who  was  willing  to  have  me  for  an  occasional 
companion.  Sometimes  he  would  take  me  with 
him  when  he  went  huckleberrying,  up  the  rural 
Montserrat  Road,  through  Cat  Swamp,  to  the  edge 
of  Burnt  Hills  and  Beaver  Pond.  He  had  a  boy's 
pride  in  explaining  these  localities  to  me,  making 
me  understand  that  I  had  a  guide  who  was  fami 
liar  with  every  inch  of  the  way.  Then,  charging 
me  not  to  move  until  he  came  back,  he  would 
leave  me  sitting  alone  on  a  great  craggy  rock, 
while  he  went  off  and  filled  his  basket  out  of 
sight  among  the  bushes.  Indeed,  I  did  not  want 
to  move,  it  was  all  so  new  and  fascinating.  The 
tall  pine-trees  whispering  to  each  other  across  the 
sky -openings  above  me,  the  graceful  ferns,  the 
velvet  mosses  dotted  with  scarlet  fairy-cups,  as 
if  the  elves  had  just  spread  their  table  for  tea, 
the  unspeakable  charm  of  the  spice-breathing  air, 
all  wove  a  web  of  enchantment  about  me,  from 
which  I  had  no  wish  to  disentangle  myself.  The 
silent  spell  of  the  woods  held  me  with  a  power 
stronger  even  than  that  of  the  solemn- voiced  sea. 
Sometimes  this  same  brother  would  get  per 
mission  to  take  me  on  a  longer  excursion,  —  to 
visit  the  old  homestead  at  "  The  Farms."  Three 
or  four  miles  was  not  thought  too  long  a  walk 
for  a  healthy  child  of  five  years ;  and  that  road, 
in  the  old  time,  led  through  a  rural  Paradisef, 
beautifid  at  every  season,  —  whether  it  were  the 


108          A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

time  of  song -sparrows  and  violets,  of  wild  roses, 
of  coral-hung  barberry-bushes,  or  of  fallen  leaves 
and  snow-drifts.  The  wildness  of  the  road,  now 
exchanged  for  elegant  modern  cultivation,  was 
its  great  charm  to  us.  We  stopped  at  the  Cove 
Brook  to  hear  the  cat -birds  sing,  and  at  Min- 
go's  Beach  to  revel  in  the  sudden  surprise  of 
the  open  sea,  and  to  listen  to  the  chant  of  the 
waves,  always  stronger  and  grander  there  than 
anywhere  along  the  shore.  We  passed  under 
dark  wooded  cliffs  out  into  sunny  openings,  the 
last  of  which  held  under  its  skirting  pines  the 
secret  of  the  prettiest  woodpath  to  us  in  all  the 
world,  the  path  to  the  ancestral  farm-house. 

We  found  children  enough  to  play  with  there, 
—  as  numerous  a  family  as  our  own.  We  were 
sometimes,  I  fancy,  the  added  drop  too  much  of 
already  overflowing  juvenility.  Farther  down  the 
road,  where  the  cousins  were  all  grown-up  men 
and  women,  Aunt  Betsey's  cordial,  old-fashioned 
hospitality  sometimes  detained  us  a  day  or  two. 
We  watched  the  milking,  and  fed  the  chickens, 
and  fared  gloriously.  Aunt  Betsey  could  not  have 
done  more  to  entertain  us,  had  we  been  the  Presi 
dent's  children. 

I  have  always  cherished  the  memory  of  a  cer 
tain  pair  of  large-bowed  spectacles  that  she  wore, 
and  of  the  green  calash,  held  by  a  ribbon  bridle, 
that  sheltered  her  head,  when  she  walked  up  from 
the  shore  to  see  us,  as  she  often  did.  They  an- 


OLD  NEW  ENGLAND.  109 

nounced  to  us  the  approach  of  inexhaustible  kind 
liness  and  good  cheer.  We  took  in  a  home-feeling 
with  the  words  "  Aunt  Betsey  "  then  and  always. 
She  had  just  the  husband  that  belonged  to  her 
in  my  Uncle  David,  an  upright  man,  frank-faced, 
large-hearted,  and  spiritually  minded.  He  was 
my  father's  favorite  brother,  and  to  our  branch 
of  the  family  "  The  Farms  "  meant  "  Uncle  David 
and  Aunt  Betsey." 

My  brother  John's  plans  for  my  entertainment 
did  not  always  harmonize  entirely  with  my  own 
ideas.  He  had  an  inventive  mind,  and  wanted 
me  to  share  his  boyish  sports.  But  I  did  not 
like  to  ride  in  a  wheelbarrow,  nor  to  walk  on 
stilts,  nor  even  to  coast  down  the  hill  on  his  sled  ; 
and  I  always  got  a  tumble,  if  I  tried,  for  I  was 
rather  a  clumsy  child  ;  besides,  I  much  preferred 
girls'  quieter  games. 

We  were  seldom  permitted  to  play  with  any 
boys  except  our  brothers.  I  drew  the  inference 
that  our  boys  must  be  a  great  deal  better  than 
"  the  ofcher  boys."  My  brother  John  had  some 
fine  play-fellows,  but  he  seemed  to  consider  me  in 
the  way  when  they  were  his  guests.  Occasionally 
we  would  forget  that  the  neighbor-boys  were  not 
girls,  and  would  find  ourselves  all  playing  to 
gether  in  delightful  unconsciousness;  although 
possibly  a  thought,  like  that  of  the  "  Ettrick 
Shepherd,"  may  now  and  then  have  flitted  through 
the  mind  of  some  masculine  juvenile :  — 


A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

"Why  the  boys  should  drive  away 
Little  sweet  maidens  from  the  play, 
Or  love  to  banter  and  fight  so  well,  — 
That 's  the  thing  I  never  could  tell." 

One  day  I  thoughtlessly  accepted  an  invitation 
to  get  through  a  gap  in  the  garden-fence,  to 
where  the  doctor's  two  boys  were  preparing  to 
take  an  imaginary  sleigh -ride  in  midsummer. 
The  sleigh  was  stranded  among  tall  weeds  and 
cornstalks,  but  I  was  politely  handed  in  by  the 
elder  boy,  who  sat  down  by  my  side  and  tucked 
his  little  brother  in  front  at  our  feet,  informing 
me  that  we  were  father  and  mother  and  little  son, 
going  to  take  a  ride  to  Newburyport.  He  had 
found  an  old  pair  of  reins  and  tied  them  to  a  saw- 
horse,  that  he  switched  and  "  Gee-up  "-ed  vigor 
ously.  The  journey  was  as  brief  as  delightful. 
I  ran  home  feeling  like  the  heroine  of  an  elope 
ment,  asking  myself  meanwhile,  "  What  would 
my  brother  John  say  if  he  knew  I  had  been  play 
ing  with  boys  ?  "  He  was  very  particular  about 
his  sisters'  behavior.  But  I  incautiously  said  to 
one  sister  in  whom  I  did  not  usually  confide,  that 
I  thought  James  was  the  nicest  boy  in  the  lane, 
and  that  I  liked  his  little  brother  Charles,  too. 
She  laughed  at  me  so  unmercifully  for  making 
the  remark,  that  I  never  dared  look  towards  the 
gap  in  the  fence  again,  beyond  which  I  could  hear 
the  boys1  voices  around  the  old  sleigh  where  they 
were  playing,  entirely  forgetful  of  their  former 


OLD  NEW  ENGLAND.  Ill 

traveling  companion.  Still,  I  continued  to  think 
that  my  courteous  cavalier,  James,  was  the  nicest 
boy  in  the  lane. 

My  brother's  vigilant  care  of  his  two  youngest 
sisters  was  once  the  occasion  to  them  of  a  serious 
fright.  My  grandfather  —  the  sexton  —  some 
times  trusted  him  to  toll  the  bell  for  a  funeral.  In 
those  days  the  bell  was  tolled  for  everybody  who 
died.  John  was  social,  and  did  not  like  to  go  up 
into  the  belfry  and  stay  an  hour  or  so  alone,  and 
as  my  grandfather  positively  forbade  him  to  take 
any  other  boy  up  there,  he  one  day  got  permis 
sion  for  us  two  little  girls  to  go  with  him,  for 
company.  We  had  to  climb  up  a  great  many 
stairs,  and  the  last  flight  was  inclosed  by  a  rough 
door  with  a  lock  inside,  which  he  was  charged  to 
fasten,  so  that  no  mischievous  boys  should  follow. 

It  was  strange  to  be  standing  up  there  in  the 
air,  gazing  over  the  balcony-railing  down  into  the 
street,  where  the  men  and  women  looked  so  small, 
and  across  to  the  water  and  the  ships  in  the  east, 
and  the  clouds  and  hills  in  the  west  1  But  when 
he  struck  the  tongue  against  the  great  bell,  close 
to  our  ears,  it  was  more  than  we  were  prepared 
for.  The  little  sister,  scarcely  three  years  old, 
screamed  and  shrieked,  — 

"  I  shall  be  stunned-ded  !  I  shall  be  stunned- 
ded !  "  I  do  not  know  where  she  had  picked  up 
that  final  syllable,  but  it  made  her  terror  much 
more  emphatic.  Still  the  great  waves  of  solemn 


112  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

sound  went  eddying  on,  over  the  hills  and  over 
the  sea,  and  we  had  to  hear  it  all,  though  we 
stopped  our  ears  with  our  fingers.  It  was  an 
immense  relief  to  us  when  the  last  stroke  of  the 
passing-bell  was  struck,  and  John  said  we  could 
go  down. 

He  took  the  key  from  his  pocket  and  was  fit 
ting  it  into  the  lock,  when  it  slipped,  dropping 
down  through  a  wide  crack  in  the  floor,  beyond 
our  reach.  Now  the  little  sister  cried  again,  and 
would  not  be  pacified  ;  and  when  I  looked  up  and 
caught  John's  blank,  dismayed  look,  I  began  to 
feel  like  crying,  too.  The  question  went  swiftly 
through  my  mind,  —  How  many  days  can  we  stay 
up  here  without  starving  to  death  ?  —  for  I  really 
thought  we  should  never  get  down  out  of  our 
prison  in  the  air:  never  see  our  mother's  face 
again. 

But  my  brother's  wits  returned  to  him.  He 
led  us  back  to  the  balcony,  and  shouted  over  the 
railing  to  a  boy  in  the  street,  making  him  un 
derstand  that  he  must  go  and  inform  my  father 
that  we  were  locked  into  the  belfry.  It  was  not 
long  before  we  saw  both  him  and  my  grandfather 
on  their  way  to  the  church.  They  came  up  to 
the  little  door,  and  told  us  to  push  with  our  united 
strength  against  it.  The  rusty  lock  soon  yielded, 
and  how  good  it  was  to  look  into  those  two  beloved 
human  faces  once  more  !  But  we  little  girls  were 
not  invited  to  join  my  brother  again  when  he 


OLD  NEW  ENGLAND.  113 

tolled  the  bell :  if  we  had  been,  I  think  we  should 
have  promptly  declined  the  invitation. 

Many  of  my  childish  misadventures  came  to 
me  in  connection  with  my  little  sister,  who,  hav 
ing  been  much  indulged,  took  it  for  granted  that 
she  could  always  have  what  she  wanted. 

One  day  we  two  were  allowed  to  take  a  walk 
together ;  I,  as  the  older,  being  supposed  to  take 
care  of  her.  Although  we  were  only  going  towards 
the  Cove,  over  a  secluded  road,  she  insisted  upon 
wearing  a  brand-new  pair  of  red  morocco  boots. 
All  went  well  until  we  came  to  a  bog  by  the  road 
side,  where  sweet-flag  and  cat-tails  grew.  Out 
in  the  middle  of  the  bog,  where  no  venturesome 
boy  had  ever  attempted  their  seizure,  there  were 
many  tall,  fine-looking  brown  cat-tails  growing. 
She  caught  sight  of  them,  and  before  I  saw  what 
she  was  doing,  she  had  shot  from  my  side  like 
an  arrow  from  the  bow,  and  was  far  out  on  the 
black,  quaking  surface,  that  at  first  upheld  her 
light  weight.  I  stood  petrified  with  horror.  I 
knew  all  about  that  dangerous  place.  I  had  been 
told  that  nobody  had  ever  found  out  how  deep 
that  mud  was.  I  had  uttered  just  one  imploring 
"  Come  back ! "  when  she  turned  to  me  with  a 
shriek,  throwing  up  her  arms  towards  me.  She 
was  sinking !  There  was  nobody  in  sight,  and 
there  was  no  time  to  think.  I  ran,  or  rather  flew, 
across  the  bog,  with  just  one  thought  in  my  mind, 
"  I  have  got  to  get  her  out ! "  Some  angel  must 


114  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

have  prevented  me  from  making  a  misstep,  and 
sinking  with  her.  I  felt  the  power  of  a  giant 
suddenly  taking  possession  of  my  small  frame. 
Quicker  than  I  could  tell  of  it,  I  had  given  one 
tremendous  pull  (she  had  already  sunk  above  her 
boot-tops),  and  had  dragged  her  back  to  the  road. 
It  is  a  marvel  to  me  now  how  I  —  a  child  of 
scarcely  six  years  —  succeeded  in  rescuing  her.  It 
did  not  seem  to  me  as  if  I  were  doing  it  myself, 
but  as  if  some  unseen  Power  had  taken  possession 
of  me  for  a  moment,  and  made  me  do  it.  And  I 
suppose  that  when  we  act  from  a  sudden  impulse 
to  help  another  out  of  trouble,  it  never  is  ourself 
that  does  the  good  deed.  The  Highest  Strength 
just  takes  us  and  uses  us.  I  certainly  felt  equal 
fco  going  straight  through  the  earth  to  China  after 
my  little  sister,  if  she  had  sunk  out  of  sight. 

We  were  two  miserable  looking  children  when 
we  reached  home,  the  sticky  ooze  having  changed 
her  feet  into  unmanageable  lumps  of  mud,  with 
which  my  own  clothes  also  were  soiled.  I  had  to 
drag  or  carry  her  all  the  way,  for  she  could  not 
or  would  not  walk  a  step.  And  alas  for  the  mo 
rocco  boots !  They  were  never  again  red.  I  also 
received  a  scolding  for  not  taking  better  care  of 
my  little  sister,  and  I  was  not  very  soon  allowed 
again  to  have  her  company  in  my  rambles. 

We  usually  joined  with  other  little  neighbor 
girls  in  some  out-of-door  amusement  near  home. 
And  our  sports,  as  well  as  our  books,  had  a  spice 


OLD  NEW  ENGLAND.  115 

of  Merry  Old  England.  They  were  full  of  kings 
and  queens,  and  made  sharp  contrasts,  as  well  as 
odd  mixtures,  with  the  homeliness  of  our  every 
day  life. 

One  of  them,  a  sort  of  rhymed  dialogue,  began 
with  the  couplet :  — 

"  Queen  Anne,  Queen  Anne,  she  sits  in  the  sun, 
As  fair  as  a  lady,  as  white  as  a  nun." 

If  "  Queen  Anne  "  did  not  give  a  right  guess  as 
to  which  hand  of  the  messenger  held  the  king's 
letter  to  her,  she  was  contemptuously  informed 
that  she  was 

"  as  brown  as  a  bun.'* 

In  another  game,  four  little  girls  joined  hands 
across,  in  couples,  chanting :  — 

"  I  wish  my  father  were  a  king, 
I  wish  my  mother  were  a  queen, 
And  I  a  little  companion  1  " 

concluding  with  a  close   embrace   in   a  dizzying 
whirl,  breathlessly  shouting  all  together,  — 
"  A  bundle  of  fagots !    A  bundle  of  fagots !  " 

In  a  third,  which  may  have  begun  with  a  juve* 
nile  reacting  of  the  Colonial  struggle  for  liberty, 
we  ranged  ourselves  under  two  leaders,  who  made 
an  archway  over  our  heads  of  their  lifted  hands 
and  arms,  saying,  as  we  passed  beneath,  — 

"  Lift  up  the  gates  as  high  as  the  sky, 
And  let  King  George  and  his  army  pass  by  I  " 

We    were    told    to    whisper    "  Oranges "    ol 


116  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

"  Lemons  "  for  a  pass-word  ;  and  "  Oranges  n  al« 
ways  won  the  larger  enlistment,  whether  British 
or  American. 

And  then  there  was  "  Grandmother  Gray,"  and 
the 

"  Old  woman  from  Newfoundland, 
With  all  her  children  in  her  hand ;  " 

and  the 

"  Knight  from  Spain 
Inquiring  for  your  daughter  Jane," 

and  numberless  others,  nearly  all  of  them  bearing 
a  distinct  Old  World  flavor. 

One  of  our  play-places  was  an  unoccupied  end 
of  the  burying-ground,  overhung  by  the  Colonel's 
apple-trees  and  close  under  his  wall,  so  that  we 
should  not  be  too  near  the  grave-stones. 

I  do  not  think  that  death  was  at  all  a  real  thing 
to  me  or  to  my  brothers  and  sisters  at  this  time. 
We  lived  so  near  the  grave-yard  that  it  seemed 
merely  the  extension  of  our  garden.  We  wan- 
dered  there  at  will,  trying  to  decipher  the  moss- 
grown  inscriptions,  and  wondering  at  the  homely 
carvings  of  cross-bones  and  cherubs  and  willow- 
trees  on  the  gray  slate-stones.  I  did  not  associate 
those  long  green  mounds  with  people  who  had  once 
lived,  though  we  were  careful,  having  been  so  in 
structed,  not  to  step  on  the  graves.  To  ramble 
about  there  and  puzzle  ourselves  with  the  names 
and  dates,  was  like  turning  over  the  pages  of  a 
curious  old  book.  We  had  not  the  least  feeling  of 
irreverence  in  taking  the  edge  of  the  grave-yard 


OLD  NEW  ENGLAND  117 

for  our  playground.  It  was  known  as  "  the  old 
burying-ground "  ;  and  we  children  regarded  it 
with  a  sort  of  affectionate  freedom,  as  we  would 
a  grandmother,  because  it  was  old. 

That,  indeed,  was  one  peculiar  attraction  of  the 
town  itself ;  it  was  old,  and  it  seemed  old,  much 
older  than  it  does  now.  There  was  only  one  main 
street,  said  to  have  been  the  first  settlers'  cowpath 
to  Wenham,  which,  might  account  for  its  zigzag 
picturesqueness.  All  the  rest  were  courts  or  lanes. 

The  town  used  to  wear  a  delightful  air  of 
drowsiness,  as  if  she  had  stretched  herself  out  for 
an  afternoon  nap,  with  her  head  towards  her  old 
mother,  Salem,  and  her  whole  length  reclining 
towards  the  sea,  till  she  felt  at  her  feet,  through 
her  green  robes,  the  dip  of  the  deep  water  at  the 
Farms.  All  her  elder  children  recognized  in  her 
quiet  steady -going  ways  a  maternal  unity  and 
strength  of  character,  as  of  a  town  that  under- 
stood  her  own  plans,  and  had  settled  down  to 
peaceful,  permanent  habits. 

Her  spirit  was  that  of  most  of  our  Massachu 
setts  coast-towns.  They  were  transplanted  shoots 
of  Old  England.  And  it  was  the  voice  of  a  mother- 
country  more  ancient  than  their  own,  that  little 
children  heard  crooning  across  the  sea  in  theil 
cradle-hymns  and  nursery-songs* 


VL 

GLIMPSES  OF  POETRY. 

OUR  close  relationship  to  Old  England  was 
sometimes  a  little  misleading  to  us  juveniles.  The 
conditions  of  our  life  were  entirely  different,  but 
we  read  her  descriptive  stories  and  sang  her  songs 
as  if  they  were  true  for  us,  too.  One  of  the  first 
things  I  learned  to  repeat  —  I  think  it  was  in  the 
Spelling-book  —  began  with  the  verse  :  — 

"  I  thank  the  goodness  and  the  grace 

That  on  my  birth  has  smiled, 
And  made  me,  in  these  latter  days, 
A  happy  English  child." 

And  some  lines  of  a  very  familiar  hymn  by  Dr. 
Watts  ran  thus :  — 

*'  Whene'er  I  take  my  walks  abroad, 
How  many  poor  I  see. 


"  How  many  children  in  the  street 

Half  naked  I  behold; 
While  I  am  clothed  from  head  to  feet, 
And  sheltered  from  the  cold." 

Now  a  ragged,  half-clothed  child,  or  one  that 
could  really  be  called  poor,  in  the  extreme  sense  of 
the  word,  was  the  rarest  of  all  sights  in  a  thrifty 
New  England  town  fifty  years  ago.  I  used  to  look 
sharply  for  those  children,  but  I  never  could  see 


GLIMPSES  OF  POETRY.  119 

one.  And  a  beggar !  Oh,  if  a  real  beggar  would 
come  along,  like  the  one  described  in 

"  Pity  the  sorrows  of  a  poor  old  man," 

what  a  wonderful  event  that  would  be !  I  believe 
I  had  more  curiosity  about  a  beggar,  and  more 
ignorance,  too,  than  about  a  king.  The  poem 
read:  — 

"  A  pampered  menial  drove  me  from  the  door." 

What  sort  of  creature  could  a  "  pampered  me 
nial  "  be  ?  Nothing  that  had  ever  come  under  our 
observation  corresponded  to  the  words.  Nor  was 
it  easy  for  us  to  attach  any  meaning  to  the  word 
*'  servant."  There  were  women  who  came  in  occa 
sionally  to  do  the  washing,  or  to  help  about  extra 
work.  But  they  were  decently  clothed,  and  had 
homes  of  their  own,  more  or  less  comfortable,  and 
their  quaint  talk  and  free-and-easy  ways  were 
often  as  much  of  a  lift  to  the  household  as  the 
actual  assistance  they  rendered. 

I  settled  down  upon  the  conclusion  that  "  rich  " 
and  "poor"  were  book -words  only,  describing 
something  far  off,  and  having  nothing  to  do  with 
our  every-day  experience.  My  mental  definition 
of  "  rich  people,"  from  home  observation,  was 
something  like  this :  People  who  live  in  three- 
story  houses,  and  keep  their  green  blinds  closed, 
and  hardly  ever  come  out  and  talk  with  the  folks 
in  the  street.  There  were  a  few  such  houses  in 
Beverly,  and  a  great  many  in  Salem,  where  my 


120  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

mother  sometimes  took  me  for  a  shopping  walk. 
But  I  did  not  suppose  that  any  of  the  people  who 
lived  near  us  were  very  rich,  like  those  in  books. 

Everybody  about  us  worked,  and  we  expected 
to  take  hold  of  our  part  while  young.  I  think  we 
were  rather  eager  to  begin,  for  we  believed  that 
work  would  make  men  and  women  of  us. 

I,  however,  was  not  naturally  an  industrious 
child,  but  quite  the  reverse.  When  my  father 
sent  us  down  to  weed  his  vegetable-garden  at  the 
foot  of  the  lane,  I,  the  youngest  of  his  weeders, 
liked  to  go  with  the  rest,  but  not  for  the  sake  of 
the  work  or  the  pay.  I  generally  gave  it  up  be 
fore  I  had  weeded  half  a  bed.  It  made  me  so 
warm !  and  my  back  did  ache  so  !  I  stole  off  into 
the  shade  of  the  great  apple-trees,  and  let  the 
west  wind  fan  my  hot  cheeks,  and  looked  up  into 
the  boughs,  and  listened  to  the  many,  many  birds 
that  seemed  chattering  to  each  other  in  a  language 
of  their  own.  What  was  it  they  were  saying? 
and  why  could  not  I  understand  it  ?  Perhaps  I 
should,  sometime.  I  had  read  of  people  who  did, 
in  fairy  tales. 

When  the  others  started  homeward,  I  followed. 
I  did  not  mind  their  calling  me  lazy,  nor  that  my 
father  gave  me  only  one  tarnished  copper  cent, 
while  Lida  received  two  or  three  bright  ones.  I 
had  had  what  I  wanted  most.  I  would  rather 
sit  under  the  apple-trees  and  hear  the  birds  sing 
than  have  a  whole  handful  of  bright  copper  pen- 


GLIMPSES  OF  POETRY.  121 

nies.  It  was  well  for  my  father  and  his  garden 
that  his  other  children  were  not  like  me. 

The  work  which  I  was  born  to,  but  had  not  be* 
gun  to  do,  was  sometimes  a  serious  weight  upon 
my  small,  forecasting  brain. 

One  of  my  hymns  ended  with  the  lines,  — 

"  With  books,  and  work,  and  healthful  play, 

May  my  first  years  be  passed, 

That  I  may  give,  for  every  day, 

Some  good  account  at  last." 

I  knew  all  about  the  books  and  the  play ;  but 
the  work,  —  how  should  I  ever  learn  to  do  it  ? 

My  father  had  always  strongly  emphasized  his 
I  wish  that  all  his  children,  girls  as  well  as  boys, 
should  have  some  independent  means  of  self-sup 
port  by  the  labor  of  their  hands ;  that  every  one 
should,  as  was  the  general  custom,  "  learn  a  trade." 
Tailor's  work  —  the  finishing  of  men's  outside 
garments  —  was  the  "  trade  "  learned  most  fre 
quently  by  women  in  those  days,  and  one  or  more 
of  my  older  sisters  worked  at  it ;  I  think  it  must 
have  been  at  home,  for  I  somehow  or  somewhere 
got  the  idea,  while  I  was  a  small  child,  that  the 
chief  end  of  woman  was  to  make  clothing  for 
mankind. 

This  thought  came  over  me  with  a  sudden 
dread  one  Sabbath  morning  when  I  was  a  tod 
dling  thing,  led  along  by  my  sister,  behind  my 
father  and  mother.  As  they  walked  arm  in  arm 
before  me,  I  lifted  my  eyes  from  my  father's  heels 


122          A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

to  his  head,  and  mused :  "  How  tall  he  is !  and 
how  long  his  coat  looks !  and  how  many  thousand, 
thousand  stitches  there  must  be  in  his  coat  and 
pantaloons!  And  I  suppose  I  have  got  to  grow 
up  and  have  a  husband,  and  put  all  those  little 
stitches  into  his  coats  and  pantaloons.  Oh,  I 
never,  never  can  do  it !  "  A  shiver  of  utter  dis 
couragement  went  through  me.  With  that  task 
before  me,  it  hardly  seemed  to  me  as  if  life  were 
worth  living.  I  went  on  to  meeting,  and  I  sup 
pose  I  forgot  my  trouble  in  a  hymn,  but  for  the 
moment  it  was  real.  It  was  not  the  only  time  in 
my  life  that  I  have  tired  myself  out  with  crossing 
bridges  to  which  I  never  came. 

Another  trial  confronted  me  in  the  shape  of  an 
ideal  but  impossible  patchwork  quilt.  We  learned 
to  sew  patchwork  at  school,  while  we  were  learn 
ing  the  alphabet ;  and  almost  every  girl,  large  or 
small,  had  a  bed-quilt  of  her  own  begun,  with  an 
eye  to  future  house  furnishing.  I  was  not  ova* 
fond  of  sewing,  but  I  thought  it  best  to  begiw 
mine  early. 

So  I  collected  a  few  squares  of  calico,  and  un 
dertook  to  put  them  together  in  my  usual  inde 
pendent  way,  without  asking  direction.  I  liked  as 
sorting  those  little  figured  bits  of  cotton  cloth,  for 
they  were  scraps  of  gowns  I  had  seen  worn,  and 
they  reminded  me  of  the  persons  who  wore  them. 
One  fragment,  in  particular,  was  like  a  picture  to 
me.  It  was  a  delicate  pink  and  brown  sea-moss 


GLIMPSES  OF  POETRY.  123 

pattern,  on  a  white  ground,  a  piece  of  a  dress  be 
longing  to  my  married  sister,  who  was  to  me  bride 
and  angel  in  one.  I  always  saw  her  face  before 
me  when  I  unfolded  this  scrap,  —  a  face  with  an 
expression  truly  heavenly  in  its  loveliness.  Heaven 
claimed  her  before  my  childhood  was  ended.  Her 
beautiful  form  was  laid  to  rest  in  mid-ocean,  too 
deep  to  be  pillowed  among  the  soft  sea-mosses. 
But  she  lived  long  enough  to  make  a  heaven  of 
toy  childhood  whenever  she  came  home. 

One  of  the  sweetest  of  our  familiar  hymns  I 
always  think  of  as  belonging  to  her,  and  as  a  still 
unbroken  bond  between  her  spirit  and  mine.  She 
had  come  back  to  us  for  a  brief  visit,  soon  after 
her  marriage,  with  some  deep,  new  experience  of 
spiritual  realities  which  I,  a  child  of  four  or  five 
years,  felt  in  the  very  tones  of  her  voice,  and  in 
the  expression  of  her  eyes. 

My  mother  told  her  of  my  fondness  for  the 
hymn-book,  and  she  turned  to  me  with  a  smile 
and  said,  "  Won't  you  learn  one  hymn  for  me  — 
one  hymn  that  I  love  very  much  ?  " 

Would  I  not  ?  She  could  not  guess  how  happy 
she  made  me  by  wishing  me  to  do  anything  for 
her  sake.  The  hymn  was,  — 

"  Whilst  Thee  I  seek,  protecting  Power." 

In  a  few  minutes  I  repeated  the  whole  to  her } 
and  its  own  beauty,  pervaded  with  the  tender 
ness  of  her  love  for  me,  fixed  it  at  once  indelibly 


124  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

in  my  memory.  Perhaps  I  shall  repeat  it  to  her 
again,  deepened  with  a  lifetime's  meaning,  be 
yond  the  sea,  and  beyond  the  stars. 

I  could  dream  over  my  patchwork,  but  I  could 
not  bring  it  into  conventional  shape.  My  sisters, 
whose  fingers  had  been  educated,  called  my  sew* 
ing  "gobblings."  I  grew  disgusted  with  it  my 
self,  and  gave  away  all  my  pieces  except  the  pretty 
sea-moss  pattern,  which  I  was  not  willing  to  see 
patched  up  with  common  calico.  It  was  evident 
that  I  should  never  conquer  fate  with  my  needle. 

Among  other  domestic  traditions  of  the  old 
times  was  the  saying  that  every  girl  must  have  a 
pillow-case  full  of  stockings  of  her  own  knitting 
before  she  was  married.  Here  was  another  moun 
tain  before  me,  for  I  took  it  for  granted  that 
marrying  was  inevitable  —  one  of  the  things  that 
everybody  must  do,  like  learning  to  read,  or  go 
ing  to  meeting. 

I  began  to  knit  my  own  stockings  when  I  was  six 
or  seven  years  old,  and  kept  on,  until  home-made 
stockings  went  out  of  fashion.  The  pillow-case 
full,  however,  was  never  attempted,  any  more  than 
the  patchwork  quilt.  I  heard  somebody  say  one 
day  that  there  must  always  be  one  "  old  maid  "  in 
every  family  of  girls,  and  I  accepted  the  prophecy 
of  some  of  my  elders,  that  I  was  to  be  that  one. 
I  was  rather  glad  to  know  that  freedom  of  choice 
in  the  matter  was  possible. 

One  day,  when  we  younger  ones  were  hanging 


GLIMPSES  OF  POETRY.  123 

about  my  golden-haired  and  golden-hearted  sis 
ter  Emilie,  teasing  her  with  wondering  questions 
about  our  future,  she  announced  to  us  (she  had 
reached  the  mature  age  of  fifteen  years)  that  she 
intended  to  be  an  old  maid,  and  that  we  might  all 
come  and  live  with  her.  Some  one  listening  re 
proved  her,  but  she  said,  "  Why,  if  they  fit  them 
selves  to  be  good,  helpful,  cheerful  old  maids, 
they  will  certainly  be  better  wives,  if  they  ever 
are  married,"  and  that  maxim  I  laid  by  in  my 
memory  for  future  contingencies,  for  I  believed 
in  every  word  she  ever  uttered.  She  herself,  how 
ever,  did  not  carry  out  her  girlish  intention. 
"  Her  children  arise  up  and  call  her  blessed  ;  her 
husband  also ;  and  he  praiseth  her."  But  the 
little  sisters  she  used  to  fondle  as  her  "  babies " 
have  never  allowed  their  own  years  nor  her 
changed  relations  to  cancel  their  claim  upon  her 
motherly  sympathies. 

I  regard  it  as  a  great  privilege  to  have  been  one 
of  a  large  family,  and  nearly  the  youngest.  We 
had  strong  family  resemblances,  and  yet  no  two 
seemed  at  all  alike.  It  was  like  rehearsing  in  a 
small  world  each  our  own  part  in  the  great  one 
awaiting  us.  If  we  little  ones  occasionally  had 
some  severe  snubbing  mixed  with  the  petting  and 
praising  and  loving,  that  was  wholesome  for  us, 
and  not  at  all  to  be  regretted. 

Almost  every  one  of  my  sisters  had  some  dis 
tinctive  aptitude  with  her  fingers.  One  worked 


126          A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

exquisite  lace-embroidery ;  another  had  a  knack 
at  cutting  and  fitting  her  doll's  clothing  so  per 
fectly  that  the  wooden  lady  was  always  a  typical 
specimen  of  the  genteel  doll-world ;  and  another 
was  an  expert  at  fine  stitching,  so  delicately  done 
that  it  was  a  pleasure  to  see  or  to  wear  anything 
her  needle  had  touched.  I  had  none  of  these 
gifts.  I  looked  on  and  admired,  and  sometimes 
tried  to  imitate,  but  my  efforts  usually  ended  in 
defeat  and  mortification. 

I  did  like  to  knit,  however,  and  I  could  shape 
a  stocking  tolerably  well.  My  fondness  for  this 
kind  of  work  was  chiefly  because  it  did  not  re 
quire  much  thought.  Except  when  there  was 
44  widening  "  or  "  narrowing  "  to  be  done,  I  did  not 
need  to  keep  my  eyes  upon  it  at  all.  So  I  took 
a  book  upon  my  lap  and  read,  and  read,  while 
the  needles  clicked  on,  comforting  me  with  the 
reminder  that  I  was  not  absolutely  unemployed, 
while  yet  I  was  having  a  good  time  reading. 

I  began  to  know  that  I  liked  poetry,  and  to 
think  a  good  deal  about  it  at  my  childish  work. 
Outside  of  the  hymn-book,  the  first  rhymes  I 
committed  to  memory  were  in  the  "  Old  Farmer's 
Almanac,"  files  of  which  hung  in  the  chimney 
corner,  and  were  an  inexhaustible  source  of  en 
tertainment  to  us  younger  ones. 

My  father  kept  his  newspapers  also  carefully 
filed  away  in  the  garret,  but  we  made  sad  havoc 
among  the  "  Palladiums  "  and  other  journals  that 


GLIMPSES  OF  POETRY.  127 

we  ought  to  have  kept  as  antiquarian  treasures. 
We  valued  the  anecdote  column  and  the  poet's 
corner  only  ;  these  we  clipped  unsparingly  for  our 
scrap-books. 

A  tattered  copy  of  Johnson's  large  Dictionary 
was  a  great  delight  to  me,  on  account  of  the  spe 
cimens  of  English  versification  which  I  found  in 
the  Introduction.  I  learned  them  as  if  they  were 
so  many  poems.  I  used  to  keep  this  old  volume 
close  to  my  pillow ;  and  I  amused  myself  when  I 
awoke  in  the  morning  by  reciting  its  jingling  con 
trasts  of  iambic  and  trochaic  and  dactylic  metre, 
and  thinking  what  a  charming  occupation  it  must 
be  to  "  make  up  "  verses. 

I  made  my  first  rhymes  when  I  was  about 
seven  years  old.  My  brother  John  proposed 
"  writing  poetry  "  as  a  rainy-day  amusement,  one 
afternoon  when  we  two  were  sent  up  into  the  gar 
ret  to  entertain  ourselves  without  disturbing  the 
family.  He  soon  grew  tired  of  his  unavailing 
attempts,  but  I  produced  two  stanzas,  the  first  of 
which  read  thus :  — 

One  summer  day,  said  little  Jane, 
We  were  walking  down  a  shady  lane, 
When  suddenly  the  wind  blew  high, 
And  the  red  lightning  flashed  in  the  sky. 

The  second  stanza  descended  in  a  dreadfully 
abrupt  anti-climax ;  but  I  was  blissfully  ignorant 
of  rhetoricians'  rules,  and  supposed  that  the  rhyme 


128  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

was  the  only  important  thing.     It  may  amuse  my 
child-readers  if  I  give  them  this  verse  too :  — 

The  peals  of  thunder,  how  they  rolled! 
And  I  felt  myself  a  little  cooled; 
For  I  before  had  been  quite  warm  ; 
But  now  around  me  was  a  storm. 

My  brother  was  surprised  at  my  success,  and  I 
believe  I  thought  my  verses  quite  fine,  too.  But 
I  was  rather  sorry  that  I  had  written  them,  for  I 
had  to  say  them  over  to  the  family,  and  then 
they  sounded  silly.  The  habit  was  formed,  how 
ever,  and  I  went  on  writing  little  books  of  ballads, 
which  I  illustrated  with  colors  from  my  toy  paint 
box,  and  then  squeezed  down  into  the  cracks  of 
the  garret  floor,  for  fear  that  somebody  would 
find  them. 

My  fame  crept  out  among  the  neighbors,  never 
theless.  I  was  even  invited  to  write  some  verses 
in  a  young  lady's  album ;  and  Aunt  Hannah 
asked  me  to  repeat  my  verses  to  her.  I  con 
sidered  myself  greatly  honored  by  both  requests. 

My  fondness  for  books  began  very  early.  At 
the  age  of  four  I  had  formed  the  plan  of  col 
lecting  a  library.  Not  of  limp,  paper-covered 
picture-books,  such  as  people  give  to  babies ;  no ! 
I  wanted  books  with  stiff  covers,  that  could  stand 
up  side  by  side  on  a  shelf,  and  maintain  their 
own  character  as  books.  But  I  did  not  know 
how  to  make  a  beginning,  for  mine  were  all  o£ 
the  kind  manufactured  for  infancy,  and  I  thought 


GLIMPSES  OF  POETRY.  129 

they  deserved  no  better  fate  than  to  be  tossed 
about  among  my  rag-babies  and  playthings. 

One  day,  however,  I  found  among  some  rubbish 
in  a  corner  a  volume  with  one  good  stiff  cover ; 
the  other  was  missing.  It  did  not  look  so  very 
old,  nor  as  if  it  had  been  much  read ;  neither  did 
it  look  very  inviting  to  me  as  I  turned  its  leaves. 
On  its  title-page  I  read  :  "  The  Life  of  John  Cal 
vin."  I  did  not  know  who  he  was,  but  a  book 
was  a  book  to  me,  and  this  would  do  as  well  as 
any  to  begin  my  library  with.  I  looked  upon  it 
as  a  treasure,  and  to  make  sure  of  my  claim,  I 
took  it  down  to  my  mother  and  timidly  asked  i£ 
I  might  have  it  for  my  own.  She  gave  me  in 
reply  a  rather  amused  "Yes,"  and  I  ran  back 
happy,  and  began  my  library  by  setting  John 
Calvin  upright  on  a  beam  under  the  garret  eaves, 
my  "  make-believe  "  book-case  shelf. 

I  was  proud  of  my  literary  property,  and  filled 
out  the  shelf  in  fancy  with  a  row  of  books,  every 
one  of  which  should  have  two  stiff  covers.  But 
I  found  no  more  neglected  volumes  that  I  could 
adopt.  John  Calvin  was  left  to  a  lonely  fate,  and 
I  am  afraid  that  at  last  the  mice  devoured  him. 
Before  I  had  quite  forgotten  him,  however,  I 
did  pick  up  one  other  book  of  about  his  size,  and 
in  the  same  one-covered  condition ;  and  this  at 
tracted  me  more,  because  it  was  in  verse.  Rhyme 
had  always  a  sort  of  magnetic  power  over  me, 
whether  I  caught  at  any  idea  it  contained  or  not. 


130  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

This  was  written  in  the  measure  which  I  after 
wards  learned  was  called  Spenserian.  It  was 
Byron's  "Vision  of  Judgment,"  and  Southey's 
also  was  bound  up  with  it. 

Southey's  hexameters  were  too  much  of  a 
mouthful  for  me,  but  Byron's  lines  jingled,  and 
apparently  told  a  story  about  something.  St.  Pe 
ter  came  into  it,  and  King  George  the  Third ;  nei 
ther  of  which  names  meant  anything  to  me ;  but 
the  scenery  seemed  to  be  somewhere  up  among 
the  clouds,  and  I,  unsuspicious  of  the  author's  ir 
reverence,  took  it  for  a  sort  of  semi-Biblical  fairy 
tale. 

There  was  on  my  mother's  bed  a  covering  of 
pink  chintz,  pictured  all  over  with  the  figure  of  a 
man  sitting  on  a  cloud,  holding  a  bunch  of  keys. 
I  put  the  two  together  in  my  mind,  imagining  the 
chintz  counterpane  to  be  an  illustration  of  the 
poem,  or  the  poem  an  explanation  of  the  counter 
pane.  For  the  stanza  I  liked  best  began  with  the 
words,  — 

"  St.  Peter  sat  at  the  celestial  gate, 
And  nodded  o'er  his  keys." 

I  invented  a  pronunciation  for  the  long  words,  and 
went  about  the  house  reciting  grandly,  — 

"  St.  Peter  sat  at  the  kelestikal  gate, 
And  nodded  o'er  his  keys." 

That  volume,  swept  back  to  me  with  the  rub 
bish  of  Time,  still  reminds  me,  forlorn  and  halt 


GLIMPSES  OF  POETRY.  131 

clad,  of  my  childish  fondness  for  its  mock-mag 
nificence. 

John  Calvin  and  Lord  Byron  were  rather  a 
peculiar  combination,  as  the  foundation  of  an  in 
fant's  library ;  but  I  was  not  aware  of  any  unfit- 
ness  or  incompatibility.  To  me  they  were  two 
brother-books,  like  each  other  in  their  refusal  to 
wear  limp  covers. 

It  is  amusing  to  recall  the  rapid  succession  of 
contrasts  in  one  child's  tastes.  I  felt  no  incon 
gruity  between  Dr.  Watts  and  Mother  Goose.  I 
supplemented  "  Pibroch  of  Donuil  Dhu  "  and 

"Lochiel,  Lochiel,  beware  of  the  day,'* 

with  "  Yankee  Doodle  "  and  the  "  Diverting  His 
tory  of  John  Gilpin ; "  and  with  the  glamour  of 
some  fairy  tale  I  had  just  read  still  haunting  me, 
I  would  run  out  of  doors  eating  a  big  piece  of 
bread  and  butter,  —  sweeter  than  any  has  tasted 
cince,  —  and  would  jump  up  towards  the  crows 
cawing  high  above  me,  cawing  back  to  them,  and 
half  wishing  I  too  were  a  crow  to  make  the  sky 
ring  with  my  glee. 

After  Dr.  Watts's  hymns  the  first  poetry  I  took 
great  delight  in  greeted  me  upon  the  pages  of  the 
"  American  First  Class  Book,"  handed  down  from 
older  pupils  in  the  little  private  school  which  my 
sisters  and  I  attended  when  Aunt  Hannah  had 
done  all  she  could  for  us.  That  book  was  a  col 
lection  of  excellent  literary  extracts,  made  by 


132          A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

one  who  was  himself  an  author  and  a  poet.  It 
deserved  to  be  called  "  first-class "  in  another 
sense  than  that  which  was  understood  by  its  title. 
I  cannot  think  that  modern  reading  books  have 
improved  upon  it  much.  It  contained  poems  from 
Wordsworth,  passages  from  Shakespeare's  plays, 
among  them  the  pathetic  dialogue  between  Hu 
bert  and  little  Prince  Arthur,  whose  appeal  to 
have  his  eyes  spared,  brought  many  a  tear  to  my 
own.  Bryant's  "  Waterfowl "  and  "Thanatopsis  " 
were  there  also ;  and  Neal's,  — 

**  There  's  a  fierce  gray  bird  with  a  bending  beak," 

that  the  boys  loved  so  dearly  to  "  declaim  ; "  and 
another  poem  by  this  last  author,  which  we  all 
liked  to  read,  partly  from  a  childish  love  of  the 
tragic,  and  partly  for  its  graphic  description  of 
an  avalanche's  movement :  — 

"  Slowly  it  came  in  its  mountain  wrath, 
And  the  forests  vanished  before  its  path ; 
And  the  rude  cliffs  bowed ;  and  the  waters  fled,  — 
And  the  valley  of  life  was  the  tomb  of  the  dead." 

In  reading  this  "  Swiss  Minstrel's  Lament  over 
the  Ruins  of  Goldau,"  I  first  felt  my  imagination 
thrilled  with  the  terrible  beauty  of  the  mountains 
—  a  terror  and  a  sublimity  which  attracted  my 
thoughts  far  more  than  it  awed  them.  But  the 
poem  in  which  they  burst  upon  me  as  real  pres 
ences,  unseen,  yet  known  in  their  remote  splendor 
as  kingly  friends  before  whom  I  could  bow,  yet 


GLIMPSES  OF  POETRY.  133 

with  whom  I  could  aspire, — for  something  like  this 
I  think  mountains  must  always  be  to  those  who 
truly  love  them,  —  was  Coleridge's  "  Mont  Blanc 
before  Sunrise,"  in  this  same  "  First  Class  Book." 
I  believe  that  poetry  really  first  took  possession  of 
me  in  that  poem,  so  that  afterwards  I  could  not 
easily  mistake  the  genuineness  of  its  ring,  though 
my  ear  might  not  be  sufficiently  trained  to  catch 
its  subtler  harmonies.  This  great  mountain  poem 
struck  some  hidden  key-note  in  my  nature,  and  I 
knew  thenceforth  something  of  what  it  was  to  live 
in  poetry,  and  to  have  it  live  in  me.  Of  course 
I  did  not  consider  my  own  foolish  little  versify 
ing  poetry.  The  child  of  eight  or  nine  years  re 
garded  her  rhymes  as  only  one  among  her  many 
games  and  pastimes. 

But  with  this  ideal  picture  of  mountain  scenery 
there  came  to  me  a  revelation  of  poetry  as  the  one 
unattainable  something  which  I  must  reach  out 
after,  because  I  could  not  live  without  it.  The 
thought  of  it  was  to  me  like  the  thought  of  God 
and  of  truth.  To  leave  out  poetry  would  be  to 
lose  the  real  meaning  of  life.  I  felt  this  very 
blindly  and  vaguely,  no  doubt ;  but  the  feeling  was 
deep.  It  was  as  if  Mont  Blanc  stood  visibly  be 
fore  me,  while  I  murmured  to  myself  in  lonely 
places  — 

"  Motionless  torrents !    silent  cataracts ! 
Who  made  you  glorious  as  the  gates  of  heaven 
Beneath  the  keen  full  moon  ?     Who  bade  the  sun 
Clothe  you  with  rainbows  ?     Who  with  lovely  flowers 
Of  living  blue  spread  garlands  at  your  feet  ?  " 


134  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

And  then  the 

"  Pine  groves  with  their  soft  and  soul-like  sound  " 

gave  glorious  answer,  with  the  streams  and  tor 
rents,  and  my  child-heart  in  its  trance  echoed  the 
poet's  invocation,  — 

"  Rise,  like  a  cloud  of  incense  from  the  earth  I 
And  tell  the  stars,  and  tell  the  rising  sun, 
Earth,  with  her  thousand  voices,  calls  on  GOD  !  " 

I  have  never  visited  Switzerland,  but  I  surely 
saw  the  Alps,  with  Coleridge,  in  my  childhood. 
And  although  I  never  stood  face  to  face  with 
mountains  until  I  was  a  mature  woman,  always, 
after  this  vision  of  them,  they  were  blended  with 
my  dream  of  whatever  is  pure  and  lofty  in  hu 
man  possibilities,  —  like  a  white  ideal  beckoning 
me  on. 

Since  I  am  writing  these  recollections  for  the 
young,  I  may  say  here  that  I  regard  a  love  for 
poetry  as  one  of  the  most  needful  and  helpful 
elements  in  the  life-outfit  of  a  human  being.  It 
•was  the  greatest  of  blessings  to  me,  in  the  long 
days  of  toil  to  which  I  was  shut  in  much  earlier 
than  most  young  girls  are,  that  the  poetry  I  held 
in  my  memory  breathed  its  enchanted  atmosphere 
through  me  and  around  me,  and  touched  even  dull 
drudgery  with  its  sunshine. 

Hard  work,  however,  has  its  own  illumination 
—  if  done  as  duty  —  which  worldliness  has  not ; 
and  worldliness  seems  to  be  the  greatest  tempta- 


GLIMPSES  OF  POETRY.  135 

tion  and  danger  of  young  people  in  this  genera 
tion.  Poetry  is  one  of  the  angels  whose  presence 
will  drive  out  this  sordid  demon,  if  anything  less 
than  the  Power  of  the  Highest  can.  But  poetry 
is  of  the  Highest.  It  is  the  Divine  Voice,  always, 
that  we  recognize  through  the  poet's,  whenever 
he  most  deeply  moves  our  souls. 

Reason  and  observation,  as  well  as  my  own  ex 
perience,  assure  me  also  that  it  is  great  poetry  — 
even  the  greatest  —  which  the  youngest  crave,  and 
upon  which  they  may  be  fed,  because  it  is  the  sim 
plest.  Nature  does  not  write  down  her  sunsets, 
her  starry  skies,  her  mountains,  and  her  oceans  in 
some  smaller  style,  to  suit  the  comprehension  of 
little  children  ;  they  do  not  need  any  such  dilution. 

So  I  go  back  to  the  "American  First  Class 
Book,"  and  affirm  it  to  have  been  one  of  the  best 
of  reading-books,  because  it  gave  us  children  a 
taste  of  the  finest  poetry  and  prose  which  had  been 
written  in  our  English  tongue,  by  British  and  by 
American  authors.  Among  the  pieces  which  left 
a  permanent  impression  upon  my  mind  I  recall 
Wirt's  description  of  the  eloquent  blind  preacher 
to  whom  he  listened  in  the  forest  wilderness  of  the 
Blue  Ridge,  a  remarkable  word-portrait,  in  which 
the  very  tones  of  the  sightless  speaker's  voice 
seemed  to  be  reproduced.  I  believe  that  the  first 
words  I  ever  remembered  of  any  sermon  were 
those  contained  in  the  grand,  brief  sentence, — 
"  Socrates  died  like  a  philosopher ;  but  Jesus 
Christ  — like  a  God!" 


136  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

Very  vivid,  too,  is  the  recollection  of  the  exqui 
site  little  prose  idyl  of  "  Moss-Side,"  from  "  Lights 
and  Shadows  of  Scottish  Life." 

From  the  few  short  words  with  which  it  began 
—  "  Gilbert  Ainslee  was  a  poor  man,  and  he  had 
been  a  poor  man  all  the  days  of  his  life  "  —  to  the 
happy  waking  of  his  little  daughter  Margaret  out 
of  her  fever-sleep  with  which  it  ended,  it  was  one 
sweet  picture  of  lowly  life  and  honorable  poverty 
irradiated  with  sacred  home-affections,  and  cheer 
ful  in  its  rustic  homeliness  as  the  blossoms  and 
wild  birds  of  the  moorland  and  the  magic  touch 
of  Christopher  North  could  make  it.  I  thought 
as  I  read, — 

"  How  much  pleasanter  it  must  be  to  be  poor 
than  to  be  rich  —  at  least  in  Scotland !  " 

For  I  was  beginning  to  be  made  aware  that 
poverty  was  a  possible  visitation  to  our  own  house 
hold  ;  and  that,  in  our  Cape  Ann  corner  of  Mas 
sachusetts,  we  might  find  it  neither  comfortable 
nor  picturesque.  After  my  father's  death,  our 
way  of  living,  never  luxurious,  grew  more  and 
more  frugal.  Now  and  then  I  heard  mysterious 
allusions  to  "  the  wolf  at  the  door  " ;  and  it  was 
whispered  that,  to  escape  him,  we  might  all  have 
to  turn  our  backs  upon  the  home  where  we  were 
born,  and  find  our  safety  in  the  busy  world,  work 
ing  among  strangers  for  our  daily  bread.  Before 
I  had  reached  my  tenth  year  I  began  to  have 
rather  disturbed  dreams  of  what  it  might  soon 
mean  for  me  to  "  earn  my  own  living." 


VII. 

BEGINNING  TO  WORK. 

A  CHILD  does  not  easily  comprehend  even  the 
plain  fact  of  death.  Though  I  had  looked  upon 
my  father's  still,  pale  face  in  his  coffin,  the  im 
pression  it  left  upon  me  was  of  sleep ;  more  peace 
ful  and  sacred  than  common  slumber,  yet  only 
sleep.  My  dreams  of  him  were  for  a  long  time 
so  vivid  that  I  would  say  to  myself,  "  He  was  here 
yesterday ;  he  will  be  here  again  to  -  morrow," 
with  a  feeling  that  amounted  to  expectation. 

We  missed  him,  we  children  large  and  small 
who  made  up  the  yet  untrained  home  crew,  as  a 
ship  misses  the  man  at  the  helm.  His  grave, 
clear  perception  of  what  was  best  for  us,  his 
brief  words  that  decided,  once  for  all,  the  course 
we  were  to  take,  had  been  far  more  to  us  than 
we  knew. 

It  was  hardest  of  all  for  my  mother,  who  had 
been  accustomed  to  depend  entirely  upon  him. 
Left  with  her  eight  children,  the  eldest  a  boy  of 
eighteen  years,  and  with  no  property  except  the 
roof  that  sheltered  us  and  a  small  strip  of  land, 
her  situation  was  full  of  perplexities  which  we 
little  ones  could  not  at  all  understand.  To  be 


138  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

fed  like  the  ravens  and  clothed  like  the  grass  of 
the  field  seemed  to  me,  for  one,  a  perfectly  nat 
ural  thing,  and  I  often  wondered  why  my  mother 
was  so  fretted  and  anxious. 

I  knew  that  she  believed  in  God,  and  in  the 
promises  of  the  Bible,  and  yet  she  seemed  some 
times  to  forget  everything  but  her  troubles  and 
her  helplessness.  I  felt  almost  like  preaching  to 
her,  but  I  was  too  small  a  child  to  do  that,  I  well 
knew ;  so  I  did  the  next  best  thing  I  could  think 
of  —  I  sang  hymns  as  if  singing  to  myself,  while 
I  meant  them  for  her.  Sitting  at  the  window 
with  my  book  and  my  knitting,  while  she  was  pre 
paring  dinner  or  supper  with  a  depressed  air  be 
cause  she  missed  the  abundant  provision  to  which 
she  had  been  accustomed,  I  would  go  from  hymn 
to  hymn,  selecting  those  which  I  thought  would 
be  most  comforting  to  her,  out  of  the  many  that 
my  memory-book  contained,  and  taking  care  to 
pronounce  the  words  distinctly. 

I  was  glad  to  observe  that  she  listened  to 

"Come,  ye  disconsolate," 

and 

"  How  firm  a  foundation ;  " 

and  that  she  grew  more  cheerful ;  though  I  did 
not  feel  sure  that  my  singing  cheered  her  so  much 
as  some  happier  thought  that  had  come  to  her 
out  of  her  own  heart.  Nobody  but  my  mother, 
indeed,  would  have  called  my  chirping  singing. 
But  as  she  did  not  seem  displeased,  I  went  on, 


BEGINNING  TO  WORK.  189 

a  little  more  confidently,  with  some  hymns  that  I 
loved  for  their  starry  suggestions,  — 

"When  marshaled  on  the  nightly  plain," 

and 

"  Brightest  and  best  of  the  sons  of  the  morning," 

and 

"  Watchman,  tell  us  of  the  night  ?  " 

The  most  beautiful  picture  in  the  Bible  to  me, 
certainly  the  loveliest  in  the  Old  Testament,  had 
always  been  that  one  painted  by  prophecy,  of  the 
time  when  wild  and  tame  creatures  should  live  to 
gether  in  peace,  and  children  should  be  their  fear 
less  playmates.  Even  the  savage  wolf  Poverty 
would  be  pleasant  and  neighborly  then,  no  doubt ! 
A  Little  Child  among  them,  leading  them,  stood 
looking  wistfully  down  through  the  soft  sunrise 
of  that  approaching  day,  into  the  cold  and  dark 
ness  of  the  world.  Oh,  it  would  be  so  much  bet 
ter  than  the  garden  of  Eden ! 

Yes,  and  it  would  be  a  great  deal  better,  I 
thought,  to  live  in  the  millennium,  than  even  to 
die  and  go  to  heaven,  although  so  many  people 
around  me  talked  as  if  that  were  the  most  desir 
able  thing  of  all.  But  I  could  never  understand 
why,  if  God  sent  us  here,  we  should  be  in  haste 
to  get  away,  even  to  go  to  a  pleasanter  place. 

I  was  perplexed  by  a  good  many  matters  be 
sides.  I  had  learned  to  keep  most  of  my  thoughts 
to  myself,  but  I  did  venture  to  ask  about  the  Res- 
surrection  —  how  it  was  that  those  who  had  died 
and  gone  straight  to  heaven,  and  had  been  sing- 


140          A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

ing  there  for  thousands  of  years,  could  have  any 
use  for  the  dust  to  which  their  bodies  had  re 
turned.  Were  they  not  already  as  alive  as  they 
could  be  ?  I  found  that  there  were  different  ideas 
of  the  resurrection  among  "orthodox"  people, 
even  then.  I  was  told  however,  that  this  was  too 
deep  a  matter  for  me,  and  so  I  ceased  asking  ques 
tions.  But  I  pondered  the  matter  of  death ;  what 
did  it  mean?  The  Apostle  Paul  gave  me  more 
light  on  the  subject  than  any  of  the  ministers  did. 
And,  as  usual,  a  poem  helped  me.  It  was  Pope's 
Ode,  beginning  with,  — 

"  Vital  spark  of  heavenly  flame,"  — 

which  I  learned  out  of  a  reading-book.  To  die 
was  to  "  languish  into  life."  That  was  the  mean 
ing  of  it !  and  I  loved  to  repeat  to  myself  the 
words,  — 

"  Hark !  they  whisper :  angels  say, 
*  Sister  spirit,  come  away  1  '  — 

The  world  recedes ;  it  disappears  I 
Heaven  opens  on  my  eyes  !  my  ears 
With  sounds  seraphic  ring." 

A  hymn  that  I  learned  a  little  later  expressed 
to  me  the  same  satisfying  thought :  — 

"  For  strangers  into  life  we  come, 
And  dying  is  but  going  home." 

The  Apostle's  words,  with  which  the  song  of 
"  The  Dying  Christian  to  his  Soul  "  ends,  left  the 
whole  cloudy  question  lit  up  with  sunshine,  to  my 
childish  thoughts :  — • 


BEGINNING  TO   WORK.  141 

"  O  grave,  where  is  thy  victory  ? 
O  death,  where  is  thy  sting  ?  " 

My  father  was  dead  ;  but  that  only  meant  that 
he  had  gone  to  a  better  home  than  the  one  he 
lived  in  with  us,  and  by  and  by  we  should  go 
home,  too. 

Meanwhile  the  millennium  was  coming,  and 
some  people  thought  it  was  very  near.  And  what 
was  the  millennium  ?  Why,  the  time  when  every 
body  on  earth  would  live  just  as  they  do  in 
heaven.  Nobody  would  be  selfish,  nobody  would 
be  unkind;  no!  not  so  much  as  in  a  single 
thought.  What  a  delightful  world  this  would  be 
to  live  in  then  !  Heaven  itself  could  scarcely  be 
much  better  1  Perhaps  people  would  not  die  at 
all,  but,  when  the  right  time  came,  would  slip 
quietly  away  into  heaven,  just  as  Enoch  did. 

My  father  had  believed  in  the  near  millennium. 
His  very  last  writing,  in  his  sick-room,  was  a 
penciled  computation,  from  the  prophets,  of  the 
time  when  it  would  begin.  The  first  minister 
who  preached  in  our  church,  long  before  I  was 
born,  had  studied  the  subject  much,  and  had  writ 
ten  books  upon  this,  his  favorite  theme.  The 
thought  of  it  was  continually  breaking  out,  like 
bloom  and  sunshine,  from  the  stern  doctrines  of 
the  period. 

One  question  in  this  connection  puzzled  me  a 
good  deal.  Were  people  going  to  be  made  good 
in  spite  of  themselves,  whether  they  wanted  to  or 


142  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

not  ?  And  what  would  be  done  with  the  bad  ones, 
if  there  were  any  left  ?  I  did  not  like  to  think 
of  their  being  killed  off,  and  yet  everybody  must 
be  good,  or  it  would  not  be  a  true  millennium. 

It  certainly  would  not  matter  much  who  was 
rich,  and  who  was  poor,  if  goodness,  and  not 
money,  was  the  thing  everybody  cared  for.  Oh,  if 
the  millennium  would  only  begin  now !  I  felt  as 
if  it  were  hardly  fair  to  me  that  I  should  not  be 
here  during  those  happy  thousand  years,  when  I 
wanted  to  so  much.  But  I  had  not  lived  even  my 
short  life  in  the  world  without  learning  some 
thing  of  my  own  faults  and  perversities ;  and 
when  I  saw  that  there  was  no  sign  of  an  approach 
ing  millennium  in  my  heart  I  had  to  conclude 
that  it  might  be  a  great  way  off,  after  all.  Yet 
the  very  thought  of  it  brought  warmth  and  illu 
mination  to  my  dreams  by  day  and  by  night.  It 
was  coming,  some  time  !  And  the  people  who 
were  in  heaven  would  be  as  glad  of  it  as  those 
who  remained  on  earth. 

That  it  was  a  hard  world  for  my  mother  and 
her  children  to  live  in  at  present  I  could  not  help 
seeing.  The  older  members  of  the  family  found 
occupations  by  which  the  domestic  burdens  were 
lifted  a  little ;  but,  with  only  the  three  youngest  to 
clothe  and  to  keep  at  school,  there  was  still  much 
more  outgo  than  income,  and  my  mother's  dis 
couragement  every  day  increased. 

My  eldest  brother  had  gone  to  sea  with  a  rela- 


BEGINNING  TO   WORK.  .  143 

live  who  was  master  of  a  merchant  vessel  in  the 
South  American  trade.  His  inclination  led  him 
that  way ;  it  seemed  to  open  before  him  a  pros 
pect  of  profitable  business,  and  my  mother  looked 
upon  him  as  her  future  stay  and  support. 

One  day  she  came  in  among  us  children  look 
ing  strangely  excited.  I  heard  her  tell  some  one 
afterwards  that  she  had  just  been  to  hear  Father 
Taylor  preach,  the  sailors'  minister,  whose  com 
ing  to  our  town  must  have  been  a  rare  occur 
rence.  His  words  had  touched  her  personally, 
for  he  had  spoken  to  mothers  whose  first-born  had 
left  them  to  venture  upon  strange  seas  and  to  seek 
unknown  lands.  He  had  even  given  to  the  wan 
derer  he  described  the  name  of  her  own  absent 
son  —  "  Benjamin."  As  she  left  the  church  she 
met  a  neighbor  who  informed  her  that  the  brig 
"  Mexican  "  had  arrived  at  Salem,  in  trouble.  It 
was  the  vessel  in  which  my  brother  had  sailed 
only  a  short  time  before,  expecting  to  be  absent 
for  months.  "  Pirates  "  was  the  only  word  we 
children  caught,  as  she  hastened  away  from  the 
house,  not  knowing  whether  her  son  was  alive  or 
not.  Fortunately,  the  news  hardly  reached  the 
town  before  my  brother  himself  did.  She  met 
him  in  the  street,  and  brought  him  home  with 
her,  forgetting  all  her  anxieties  in  her  joy  at  his 
safety. 

The  "  Mexican  "  had  been  attacked  on  the  high 
seas  by  the  piratical  craft  "  Panda,"  robbed  of 


144          A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

twenty  thousand  dollars  in  specie,  set  on  fire,  and 
abandoned  to  her  fate,  with  the  crew  fastened 
down  in  the  hold.  One  small  skylight  had  acci 
dentally  been  overlooked  by  the  freebooters.  The 
captain  discovered  it,  and  making  his  way  through 
it  to  the  deck,  succeeded  in  putting  out  the  fire, 
else  vessel  and  sailors  would  have  sunk  together, 
and  their  fate  would  never  have  been  known. 

Breathlessly  we  listened  whenever  my  brother 
would  relate  the  story,  which  he  did  not  at  all  en 
joy  doing,  for  a  cutlass  had  been  swung  over  his 
head,  and  his  life  threatened  by  the  pirate's  boat 
swain,  demanding  more  money,  after  all  had  been 
taken.  A  Genoese  messmate,  lachimo,  shortened 
to  plain  "  Jack  "  by  the  "  Mexican's  "  crew,  came 
to  see  my  brother  one  day,  and  at  the  dinner  table 
he  went  through  the  whole  adventure  in  panto 
mime,  which  we  children  watched  with  wide-eyed 
terror  and  amusement.  For  there  was  some  com 
edy  mixed  with  what  had  been  so  nearly  a  trag 
edy,  and  Jack  made  us  see  the  very  whites  of  the 
black  cook's  eyes,  who,  favored  by  his  color,  had 
hidden  himself  —  all  except  that  dilated  whiteness 
—  between  two  great  casks  in  the  hold.  Jack 
himself  had  fallen  through  a  trap-door,  was  badly 
hurt,  and  could  not  extricate  himself. 

It  was  very  ludicrous.  Jack  crept  under  the 
table  to  show  us  how  he  and  the  cook  made  eyes 
at  each  other  down  there  in  the  darkness,  not  dar 
ing  to  speak.  The  pantomime  was  necessary,  for 


BEGINNING  TO  WORK.  145 

the  Genoese  had  very  little  English  at  his  com 
mand. 

When  the  pirate  crew  were  brought  into  Salem 
for  trial,  my  brother  had  the  questionable  satis 
faction  of  identifying  in  the  court-room  the  ruffian 
of  a  boatswain  who  had  threatened  his  life.  This 
boatswain  and  several  others  of  the  crew  were  exe 
cuted  in  Boston.  The  boy  found  his  brief  sailor- 
experience  quite  enough  for  him,  and  afterward 
settled  down  quietly  to  the  trade  of  a  carpenter. 

Changes  thickened  in  the  air  around  us.  Not 
the  least  among  them  was  the  burning  of  "our 
meeting-house/'  in  which  we  had  all  been  bap 
tized.  One  Sunday  morning  we  children  were 
told,  when  we  woke,  that  we  could  not  go  to 
meeting  that  day,  because  the  church  was  a  heap 
of  smoking  ruins.  It  seemed  to  me  almost  like 
the  end  of  the  world. 

During  my  father's  life,  a  few  years  before  my 
birth,  his  thoughts  had  been  turned  towards  the 
new  manufacturing  town  growing  up  on  the  banks 
of  the  Merrimack.  He  had  once  taken  a  journey 
there,  with  the  possibility  in  his  mind  of  making 
the  place  his  home,  his  limited  income  furnishing 
no  adequate  promise  of  a  maintenance  for  his 
large  family  of  daughters.  From  the  beginning, 
Lowell  had  a  high  reputation  for  good  order,  mo 
rality,  piety,  and  all  that  was  dear  to  the  old-fash 
ioned  New  Englander's  heart. 

After  his  death,  my  mother's  thoughts  naturally 


146  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

followed  the  direction  his  had  taken  ;  and  seeing 
no  other  opening  for  herself,  she  sold  her  small 
estate,  and  moved  to  Lowell,  with  the  intention  of 
taking  a  corporation-house  for  mill-girl  boarders: 
Some  of  the  family  objected,  for  the  Old  World 
traditions  about  factory  life  were  anything  but 
attractive ;  and  they  were  current  in  New  England 
until  the  experiment  at  Lowell  had  shown  that 
independent  and  intelligent  workers  invariably 
give  their  own  character  to  their  occupation.  My 
mother  had  visited  Lowell,  and  she  was  willing 
and  glad,  knowing  all  about  the  place,  to  make  it 
our  home. 

The  change  involved  a  great  deal  of  work. 
"  Boarders "  signified  a  large  house,  many  beds, 
and  an  indefinite  number  of  people.  Such  piles 
of  sewing  accumulated  before  us  !  A  sewing-bee, 
volunteered  by  the  neighbors,  reduced  the  quan 
tity  a  little,  and  our  child-fingers  had  to  take  their 
part.  But  the  seams  of  those  sheets  did  look  to 
me  as  if  they  were  miles  long ! 

My  sister  Lida  and  I  had  our  "  stint,"  —  so 
much  to  do  every  day.  It  was  warm  weather, 
and  that  made  it  the  more  tedious,  for  we  wanted 
to  be  running  about  the  fields  we  were  so  soon  to 
leave.  One  day,  in  sheer  desperation,  we  dragged 
a  sheet  up  with  us  into  an  apple-tree  in  the  yard, 
and  sat  and  sewed  there  through  the  summer  af 
ternoon,  beguiling  the  irksomeness  of  our  task  by 
telling  stories  and  guessing  riddles. 


BEGINNING  TO   WORK.  147 

It  was  hardest  for  me  to  leave  the  garret  ana 
the  garden.  In  the  old  houses  the  garret  was 
the  children's  castle.  The  rough  rafters,  —  it  was 
always  an  unfinished  room,  otherwise  not  a  true 
garret,  —  the  music  of  the  rain  on  the  roof,  the 
worn  sea-chests  with  their  miscellaneous  treas 
ures,  the  blue-roofed  cradle  that  had  sheltered 
ten  blue-eyed  babies,  the  tape-looms  and  reels  and 
spinning-wheels,  the  herby  smells,  and  the  delight 
ful  dream  corners,  —  these  could  not  be  taken  with 
us  to  the  new  home.  Wonderful  people  had 
looked  out  upon  us  from  under  those  garret-eaves. 
Sindbad  the  Sailor  and  Baron  Munchausen  had 
sometimes  strayed  in  and  told  us  their  unbeliev 
able  stories  ;  and  we  had  there  made  acquaintance 
with  the  great  Caliph  Haroun  Alraschid. 

To  go  away  from  the  little  garden  was  almost  as 
bad.  Its  lilacs  and  peonies  were  beautiful  to  me ; 
and  in  a  corner  of  it  was  one  tiny  square  of  earth 
that  I  called  my  own,  where  I  was  at  liberty  to 
pull  up  my  pinks  and  lady's  delights  every  day, 
to  see  whether  they  had  taken  root,  and  where  I 
could  give  my  lazy  morning-glory  seeds  a  poke, 
morning  after  morning,  to  help  them  get  up  and 
begin  their  climb.  Oh,  I  should  miss  the  garden 
very  much  indeed ! 

It  did  not  take  long  to  turn  over  the  new  leaf 
of  our  home  experience.  One  sunny  day  three  of 
us  children,  my  youngest  sister,  my  brother  John, 
and  I,  took  with  my  mother  the  first  stage-coach 


148          A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

journey  of  our  lives,  across  Lynnfield  plains  and 
over  Andover  hills  to  the  banks  of  the  Merrimack. 
We  were  set  down  before  an  empty  house  in  a  yet 
unfinished  brick  block,  where  we  watched  for  the 
big  wagon  that  was  to  bring  our  household  goods. 

It  came  at  last ;  and  the  novelty  of  seeing  our 
old  furniture  settled  in  new  rooms  kept  us  from 
being  homesick.  One  after  another  they  ap 
peared,  — bedsteads,  chairs,  tables,  and,  to  me  most 
welcome  of  all,  the  old  mahogany  secretary  with 
brass-handled  drawers,  that  had  always  stood  in 
the  "  front  room  "  at  home.  With  it  came  the  bar 
rel  full  of  books  that  had  filled  its  shelves,  and 
they  took  their  places  as  naturally  as  if  they  had 
always  lived  in  this  strange  town. 

There  they  all  stood  again  side  by  side  on  their 
shelves,  the  dear,  dull,  good  old  volumes  that  all  my 
life  I  had  tried  in  vain  to  take  a  sincere  Sabbath- 
day  interest  in,  —  Scott's  Commentaries  on  the 
Bible,  Hervey's  "Meditations,"  Young's  "Night 
Thoughts,"  "Edwards  on  the  Affections,"  and 
the  Writings  of  Baxter  and  Doddridge.  Besides 
these,  there  were  bound  volumes  of  the  "  Keposi- 
tory  Tracts,"  which  I  had  read  and  re-read ;  and 
the  delightfully  miscellaneous  "  Evangelicana," 
containing  an  account  of  Gilbert  Tennent's  won 
derful  trance ;  also  the  "  History  of  the  Spanish 
Inquisition,"  with  some  painfully  realistic  illus 
trations  ;  a  German  Dictionary,  whose  outlandish 
letters  and  words  I  liked  to  puzzle  myself  over ; 


BEGINNING  TO   WORK.  149 

and  a  descriptive  History  of  Hamburg,  full  of 
fine  steel  engravings  —  which  last  two  or  three 
volumes  my  father  had  brought  with  him  from  the 
countries  to  which  he  had  sailed  in  his  sea-faring 
days.  A  complete  set  of  the  "  Missionary  Her- 
aid,"  unbound,  filled  the  upper  shelves. 

Other  familiar  articles  journeyed  with  us :  the 
brass-headed  shovel  and  tongs,  that  it  had  been 
my  especial  task  to  keep  bright ;  the  two  card- 
tables  (which  were  as  unacquainted  as  ourselves 
with  ace,  face,  and  trump) ;  the  two  china  mugs, 
with  their  eighteenth-century  lady  and  gentleman 
figures,  curiosities  brought  from  over  the  sea ; 
and  reverently  laid  away  by  my  mother  with  her 
choicest  relics  in  the  secretary-desk,  my  father's 
miniature,  painted  in  Antwerp,  a  treasure  only 
shown  occasionally  to  us  children  as  a  holiday 
treat ;  and  my  mother's  easy-chair,  —  I  should 
have  felt  as  if  I  had  lost  Aer,  had  that  been  left 
behind.  The  earliest  unexpressed  ambition  of  my 
infancy  had  been  to  grow  up  and  wear  a  cap,  and 
sit  in  an  easy-chair  knitting,  and  look  comforta 
ble,  just  as  my  mother  did. 

Filled  up  with  these  things,  the  little  one- win 
dowed  sitting-room  easily  caught  the  home  feel 
ing  and  gave  it  back  to  us.  Inanimate  objects  do 
gather  into  themselves  something  of  the  character 
of  those  who  live  among  them,  through  associa 
tion;  and  this  alone  makes  heirlooms  valuable. 
They  are  family  treasures,  because  they  are  part 


150  A  NEW  ENGLAND   GIRLHOOD. 

of  the  family  life,  full  of  memories  and  inspira 
tions.  Bought  or  sold,  they  are  nothing  but  old 
furniture.  Nobody  can  buy  the  old  associations  ; 
and  nobody  who  has  really  felt  how  everything 
that  has  been  in  a  home  makes  part  of  it,  can 
willingly  bargain  away  the  old  things. 

My  mother  never  thought  of  disposing  of  her 
best  furniture,  whatever  her  need.  It  traveled 
with  her  in  every  change  of  her  abiding-place,  as 
long  as  she  lived,  so  that  to  us  children  home 
seemed  to  accompany  her  wherever  she  went. 
And,  remaining  yet  in  the  family,  it  often  brings 
back  to  me  pleasant  reminders  of  my  childhood. 
No  other  Bible  seems  quite  so  sacred  to  me  as  the 
old  Family  Bible,  out  of  which  my  father  used  to 
read  when  we  were  all  gathered  around  him  for 
worship.  To  turn  its  leaves  and  look  at  its  pic 
tures  was  one  of  our  few  Sabbath-day  indul 
gences  ;  and  I  cannot  touch  it  now  except  with 
feelings  of  profound  reverence. 

For  the  first  time  in  our  lives,  my  little  sister 
and  I  became  pupils  in  a  grammar  school  for 
both  girls  and  boys,  taught  by  a  man.  I  was  put 
with  her  into  the  sixth  class,  but  was  sent  the 
very  next  day  into  the  first.  I  did  not  belong  in 
either,  but  somewhere  between.  And  I  was  very 
uncomfortable  in  my  promotion,  for  though  the 
reading  and  spelling  and  grammar  and  geogra 
phy  were  perfectly  easy,  I  had  never  studied  any 
thing  but  mental  arithmetic,  and  did  not  know 


BEGINNING  TO   WORK.  151 

how  to  "do  a  sum."  "We  had  to  show,  when 
called  up  to  recite,  a  slatef  ul  of  sums,  "  done  "  and 
"proved."  No  explanations  were  ever  asked  of 
us. 

The  girl  who  sat  next  to  me  saw  my  distress, 
and  offered  to  do  my  sums  for  me.  I  accepted 
her  proposal,  feeling,  however,  that  I  was  a  mis 
erable  cheat.  But  I  was  afraid  of  the  master, 
who  was  tall  and  gaunt,  and  used  to  stalk  across 
the  school-room,  right  over  the  desk-tops,  to  find 
out  if  there  was  any  mischief  going  on.  Once, 
having  caught  a  boy  annoying  a  seat-mate  with  a 
pin,  he  punished  the  offender  by  pursuing  him 
around  the  school-room,  sticking  a  pin  into  his 
shoulder  whenever  he  could  overtake  him.  And 
he  had  a  fearful  leather  strap,  which  was  some 
times  used  even  upon  the  shrinking  palm  of  a 
little  girl.  If  he  should  find  out  that  I  was  a 
pretender  and  deceiver,  as  I  knew  that  I  was,  I 
could  not  guess  what  might  happen  to  me.  He 
never  did,  however.  I  was  left  unmolested  in  the 
ignorance  which  I  deserved.  But  I  never  liked 
the  girl  who  did  my  sums,  and  I  fancied  she  had 
a  decided  contempt  for  me. 

There  was  a  friendly  looking  boy  always  sitting 
at  the  master's  desk ;  they  called  him  "  the  mon 
itor."  It  was  his  place  to  assist  scholars  whc 
were  in  trouble  about  their  lessons,  but  I  was  too 
bashful  to  speak  to  him,  or  to  ask  assistance  of 
anybody.  I  think  that  nobody  learned  much  un- 


152          A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

der  that  regime,  and  the  whole  school  system  was 
soon  after  entirely  reorganized. 

Our  house  was  quickly  filled  with  a  large 
feminine  family.  As  a  child,  the  gulf  between 
little  girlhood  and  young  womanhood  had  always 
looked  to  me  very  wide.  I  supposed  we  should 
get  across  it  by  some  sudden  jump,  by  and  by. 
But  among  these  new  companions  of  all  ages, 
from  fifteen  to  thirty  years,  we  slipped  into  wo 
manhood  without  knowing  when  or  how. 

Most  of  my  mother's  boarders  were  from  New 
Hampshire  and  Vermont,  and  there  was  a  fresh, 
breezy  sociability  about  them  which  made  them 
seem  almost  like  a  different  race  of  beings  from 
any  we  children  had  hitherto  known. 

We  helped  a  little  about  the  housework,  before 
and  after  school,  making  beds,  trimming  lamps, 
and  washing  dishes.  The  heaviest  work  was  done 
by  a  strong  Irish  girl,  my  mother  always  attend 
ing  to  the  cooking  herself.  She  was,  however, 
a  better  caterer  than  the  circumstances  required 
or  permitted.  She  liked  to  make  nice  things  for 
the  table,  and,  having  been  accustomed  to  an 
abundant  supply,  could  never  learn  to  economize. 
At  a  dollar  and  a  quarter  a  week  for  board, 
(the  price  allowed  for  mill-girls  by  the  corpora 
tions)  great  care  in  expenditure  was  necessary. 
It  was  not  in  my  mother's  nature  closely  to  cal 
culate  costs,  and  in  this  way  there  came  to  be  a 
continually  increasing  leak  in  the  family  purse. 


BEGINNING  TO   WORK.  153 

The  older  members  of  the  family  did  everything 
they  could,  but  it  was  not  enough.  I  heard  it 
said  one  day,  in  a  distressed  tone,  "  The  children 
will  have  to  leave  school  and  go  into  the  mill." 

There  were  many  pros  and  cons  between  my 
mother  and  sisters  before  this  was  positively  de 
cided.  The  mill-agent  did  not  want  to  take  us  two 
little  girls,  but  consented  on  condition  we  should 
be  sure  to  attend  school  the  full  number  of  months 
prescribed  each  year.  I,  the  younger  one,  was 
then  between  eleven  and  twelve  years  old. 

I  listened  to  all  that  was  said  about  it,  very 
much  fearing  that  I  should  not  be  permitted  to 
do  the  coveted  work.  For  the  feeling  had  al 
ready  frequently  come  to  me,  that  I  was  the  one 
too  many  in  tho  overcrowded  family  nest.  Once, 
before  we  left  our  old  home,  I  had  heard  a 
neighbor  condoling  with  my  mother  because  there 
were  so  many  of  us,  and  her  emphatic  reply  had 
been  a  great  relief  to  my  mind :  — 

"  There  is  n't  one  more  than  I  want.  I  could 
not  spare  a  single  one  of  my  children." 

But  her  difficulties  were  increasing,  and  I 
thought  it  would  be  a  pleasure  to  feel  that  I  was 
not  a  trouble  or  burden  or  expense  to  anybody. 
So  I  went  to  my  first  day's  work  in  the  mill 
with  a  light  heart.  The  novelty  of  it  made  it 
seem  easy,  and  it  really  was  not  hard,  just  to 
change  the  bobbins  on  the  spinning-frames  every 
three  quarters  of  an  hour  or  so,  with  half  a 


154  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

dozen  other  little  girls  who  were  doing  the  same 
thing.  When  I  came  back  at  night,  the  family 
began  to  pity  me  for  my  long,  tiresome  day's 
work,  but  I  laughed  and  said,  - — 

u  Why,  it  is  nothing  but  fun.  It  is  just  like 
play." 

And  for  a  little  while  it  was  only  a  new  amuse 
ment  ;  I  liked  it  better  than  going  to  school  and 
"  making  believe "  I  was  learning  when  I  was 
not.  And  there  was  a  great  deal  of  play  mixed 
with  it.  We  were  not  occupied  more  than  half  the 
time.  The  intervals  were  spent  frolicking  around 
among  the  spinning-frames,  teasing  and  talking 
to  the  older  girls,  or  entertaining  ourselves  with 
games  and  stories  in  a  corner,  or  exploring,  with 
the  overseer's  permission,  the  mysteries  of  the 
carding-room,  the  dressing-room,  and  the  weaving- 
room. 

I  never  cared  much  for  machinery.  The  buzz 
ing  and  hissing  and  whizzing  of  pulleys  and  roll 
ers  and  spindles  and  flyers  around  me  often  grew 
tiresome.  I  could  not  see  into  their  complica 
tions,  or  feel  interested  in  them.  But  in  a  room 
below  us  we  were  sometimes  allowed  to  peer  in 
through  a  sort  of  blind  door  at  the  great  water- 
wheel  that  carried  the  works  of  the  whole  mill. 
It  was  so  huge  that  we  could  only  watch  a  few  of 
its  spokes  at  a  time,  and  part  of  its  dripping  rim> 
moving  with  a  slow,  measured  strength  through 
the  darkness  that  shut  it  in.  It  impressed  me 


BEGINNING  TO   WORK.  155 

with  something  of  the  awe  which  comes  to  us 
in  thinking  of  the  great  Power  which  keeps  the 
mechanism  of  the  universe  in  motion.  Even 
now,  the  remembrance  of  its  large,  mysterious 
movement,  in  which  every  little  motion  of  every 
noisy  little  wheel  was  involved,  brings  back  to  me 
a  verse  from  one  of  my  favorite  hymns :  — 

"  Our  lives  through  various  scenes  are  drawn, 

And  vexed  by  trifling  cares, 
While  Thine  eternal  thought  moves  on 
Thy  undisturbed  affairs." 

There  were  compensations  for  being  shut  in  to 
daily  toil  so  early.  The  mill  itself  had  its  lessons 
for  us.  But  it  was  not,  and  could  not  be,  the 
right  sort  of  life  for  a  child,  and  we  were  happy 
in  the  knowledge  that,  at  the  longest,  our  employ 
ment  was  only  to  be  temporary. 

When  I  took  my  next  three  months  at  the 
grammar  school,  everything  there  was  changed, 
and  I  too  was  changed.  The  teachers  were  kind, 
and  thorough  in  their  instruction ;  and  my  mind 
seemed  to  have  been  ploughed  up  during  that 
year  of  work,  so  that  knowledge  took  root  in  it 
easily.  Il<  was  a  great  delight  to  me  to  study, 
and  at  the  end  of  the  three  months  the  master 
told  me  that  I  was  prepared  for  the  high  school. 

But  alas  !  I  could  not  go.  The  little  money  I 
could  earn  —  one  dollar  a  week,  besides  the  price 
of  my  board  —  was  needed  in  the  family,  and  I 
must  return  to  the  mill.  It  was  a  severe  disap- 


156          A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

pointment  to  me,  though  I  did  not  say  so  at 
home.  I  did  not  at  all  accept  the  conclusion  of 
a  neighbor  whom  I  heard  talking  about  it  with 
my  mother.  His  daughter  was  going  to  the 
high  school,  and  my  mother  was  telling  him  how 
sorry  she  was  that  I  could  not. 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  in  a  soothing  tone,  "  my  girl 
has  n't  got  any  such  head  -  piece  as  yours  has. 
Your  girl  does  n't  need  to  go." 

Of  course  I  knew  that  whatever  sort  of  a 
"  head-piece  "  I  had,  I  did  need  and  want  just 
that  very  opportunity  to  study.  I  think  the  reso 
lution  was  then  formed,  inwardly,  that  I  would 
go  to  school  again,  some  time,  whatever  happened. 
I  went  back  to  my  work,  but  now  without  enthu 
siasm.  I  had  looked  through  an  open  door  that 
I  was  not  willing  to  see  shut  upon  me. 

I  began  to  reflect  upon  life  rather  seriously 
for  a  girl  of  twelve  or  thirteen.  What  was  I 
here  for  ?  What  could  I  make  of  myself  ?  Must 
I  submit  to  be  carried  along  with  the  current, 
and  do  just  what  everybody  else  did  ?  No :  I 
knew  I  should  not  do  that,  for  there  was  a  certain 
Myself  who  was  always  starting  up  with  her  own 
original  plan  or  aspiration  before  me,  and  who 
was  quite  indifferent  as  to  what  people  generally 
thought. 

Well,  I  would  find  out  what  this  Myself  was 
good  for,  and  that  she  should  be  ! 

It  was  but  the  presumption  of  extreme  youth. 


BEGINNING  TO  WORK.  157 

How  gladly  would  I  know  now,  after  these  long 
years,  just  why  I  was  sent  into  the  world,  and 
whether  I  have  in  any  degree  fulfilled  the  pur 
pose  of  my  being ! 

In  the  older  times  it  was  seldom  said  to  little 
girls,  as  it  always  has  been  said  to  boys,  that 
they  ought  to  have  some  definite  plan,  while  they 
were  children,  what  to  be  and  do  when  they  were 
grown  up.  There  was  usually  but  one  path  open 
before  them,  to  become  good  wives  and  house 
keepers.  And  the  ambition  of  most  girls  was  to 
follow  their  mothers'  footsteps  in  this  direction ; 
a  natural  and  laudable  ambition.  But  girls,  as 
well  as  boys,  must  often  have  been  conscious  of 
their  own  peculiar  capabilities,  —  must  have  de 
sired  to  cultivate  and  make  use  of  their  individual 
powers.  When  I  was  growing  up,  they  had  al 
ready  begun  to  be  encouraged  to  do  so.  We  were 
often  told  that  it  was  our  duty  to  develop  any 
talent  we  might  possess,  or  at  least  to  learn  how 
to  do  some  one  thing  which  the  world  needed,  or 
which  would  make  it  a  pleasanter  world. 

When  I  thought  what  I  should  best  like  to  do, 
my  first  dream  —  almost  a  baby's  dream  —  about 
it  was  that  it  would  be  a  fine  thing  to  be  a  school 
teacher,  like  Aunt  Hannah.  Afterward,  when  I 
heard  that  there  were  artists,  I  wished  I  could 
some  time  be  one.  A  slate  and  pencil,  to  draw 
pictures,  was  my  first  request  whenever  a  day's 
ailment  kept  me  at  home  from  school ;  and  I 


158  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

rather  enjoyed  being  a  little  ill,  for  the  sake  of 
amusing  myself  in  that  way.  The  wish  grew  up 
with  me ;  but  there  were  no  good  drawing-teach 
ers  in  those  days,  and  if  there  had  been,  the  cost 
of  instruction  would  have  been  beyond  the  family 
means.  My  sister  Emilie,  however,  who  saw  my 
taste  and  shared  it  herself,  did  her  best  to  assist 
me,  furnishing  me  with  pencil  and  paper  and 
paint-box. 

If  I  could  only  make  a  rose  bloom  on  paper, 
I  thought  I  should  be  happy !  or  if  I  could  at  last 
succeed  in  drawing  the  outline  of  winter-stripped 
boughs  as  I  saw  them  against  the  sky,  it  seemed 
to  me  that  I  should  be  willing  to  spend  years  in 
trying.  I  did  try  a  little,  and  very  often.  Jack 
Frost  was  my  most  inspiring  teacher.  His  sketches 
on  the  bedroom  window-pane  in  cold  mornings 
were  my  ideal  studies  of  Swiss  scenery,  crags  and 
peaks  and  chalets  and  fir-trees,  —  and  graceful 
tracery  of  ferns,  like  those  that  grew  in  the  woods 
where  we  went  huckleberrying,  all  blended  to 
gether  by  his  touch  of  enchantment.  I  wondered 
whether  human  fingers  ever  succeeded  in  imitating 
that  lovely  work. 

The  taste  has  followed  me  all  my  life  through, 
but  I  could  never  indulge  it  except  as  a  recreation. 
I  was  not  to  be  an  artist,  and  I  am  rather  glad 
that  I  was  hindered,  for  I  had  even  stronger  in 
clinations  in  other  directions ;  and  art,  really  noble 
art,  requires  the  entire  devotion  of  a  lifetime. 


BEGINNING  TO   WORK.  159 

I  seldom  thought  seriously  of  becoming  an 
author,  although  it  seemed  to  me  that  anybody 
who  had  written  a  book  would  have  a  right  to 
feel  very  proud.  But  I  believed  that  a  person 
must  be  exceedingly  wise,  before  presuming  to 
attempt  it :  although  now  and  then  I  thought  I 
could  feel  ideas  growing  in  my  mind  that  it 
might  be  worth  while  to  put  into  a  book,  —  if  I 
lived  and  studied  until  I  was  forty  or  fifty  years 
old. 

I  wrote  my  little  verses,  to  be  sure,  but  that 
was  nothing;  they  just  grew.  They  were  the 
same  as  breathing  or  singing.  I  could  not  help 
writing  them,  and  I  thought  and  dreamed  a 
great  many  that  never  were  put  on  paper.  They 
seemed  to  fly  into  my  mind  and  away  again,  like 
birds  going  with  a  carol  through  the  air.  It 
seemed  strange  to  me  that  people  should  notice 
them,  or  should  think  my  writing  verses  anything 
peculiar  ;  for  I  supposed  that  they  were  in  every 
body's  mind,  just  as  they  were  in  mine,  and  that 
anybody  could  write  them  who  chose. 

One  day  I  heard  a  relative  say  to  my  mother,  — 

"  Keep  what  she  writes  till  she  grows  up,  and 
perhaps  she  will  get  money  for  it.  I  have  heard 
of  somebody  who  earned  a  thousand  dollars  by 
writing  poetry." 

It  sounded  so  absurd  to  me.  Money  for  writ 
ing  verses !  One  dollar  would  be  as  ridiculous 
as  a  thousand.  I  should  as  soon  have  thought  of 


160  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

being  paid  for  thinking !  My  mother,  fortunately, 
was  sensible  enough  never  to  flatter  me  or  let  me 
be  flattered  about  my  scribbling.  It  never  was 
allowed  to  hinder  any  work  I  had  to  do.  I  crept 
away  into  a  corner  to  write  what  came  into  my 
head,  just  as  I  ran  away  to  play ;  and  I  looked 
upon  it  only  as  my  most  agreeable  amusement, 
never  thinking  of  preserving  anything  which  did 
not  of  itself  stay  in  my  memory.  This  too  was 
well,  for  the  time  did  not  come  when  I  could 
afford  to  look  upon  verse-writing  as  an  occupa 
tion.  Through  my  life,  it  has  only  been  permit 
ted  to  me  as  an  aside  from  other  more  pressing 
employments.  Whether  I  should  have  written 
better  verses  had  circumstances  left  me  free  to 
do  what  I  chose,  it  is  impossible  now  to  know. 

All  my  thoughts  about  my  future  sent  me  back 
to  Aunt  Hannah  and  my  first  infantile  idea  of 
being  a  teacher.  I  foresaw  that  I  should  be  that 
before  I  could  be  or  do  anything  else.  It  had 
been  impressed  upon  me  that  I  must  make  myself 
useful  in  the  world,  and  certainly  one  could  be 
useful  who  could  "  keep  school "  as  Aunt  Hannah 
did.  I  did  not  see  anything  else  for  a  girl  to 
do  who  wanted  to  use  her  brains  as  well  as  her 
hands.  So  the  plan  of  preparing  myself  to  be 
a  teacher  gradually  and  almost  unconsciously 
shaped  itself  in  my  mind  as  the  only  practicable 
one.  I  could  earn  my  living  in  that  way,  —  an 
all-important  consideration. 


BEGINNING  TO    WORK.  161 

I  liked  the  thought  of  self-support,  but  I  would 
have  chosen  some  artistic  or  beautiful  work  if  I 
could.  I  had  no  especial  aptitude  for  teaching, 
and  no  absorbing  wish  to  be  a  teacher,  but  it 
seemed  to  me  that  I  might  succeed  if  I  tried. 
What  I  did  like  about  it  was  that  one  must 
know  something  first.  I  must  acquire  knowledge 
before  I  could  impart  it,  and  that  was  just  what 
I  wanted.  I  could  be  a  student,  wherever  I  was 
and  whatever  else  I  had  to  be  or  do,  and  I 
would ! 

I  knew  I  should  write  ;  I  could  not  help  doing 
that,  for  my  hand  seemed  instinctively  to  move 
towards  pen  and  paper  in  moments  of  leisure. 
But  to  write  anything  worth  while,  I  must  have 
mental  cultivation ;  so,  in  preparing  myself  to 
teach,  I  could  also  be  preparing  myself  to  write. 

This  was  the  plan  that  indefinitely  shaped  it 
self  in  my  mind  as  I  returned  to  my  work  in  the 
spinning -room,  and  which  I  followed  out,  not 
without  many  breaks  and  hindrances  and  neg 
lects,  during  the  next  six  or  seven  years,  —  to 
learn  all  I  could,  so  that  I  should  be  fit  to  teach 
or  to  write,  as  the  way  opened.  And  it  turned 
out  that  fifteen  or  twenty  of  my  best  years  were 
given  to  teaching. 


vni. 

BY  THE  RIVER. 

IT  did  not  take  us  younger  ones  long  to  get 
acquainted  with  our  new  home,  and  to  love  it. 

To  live  beside  a  river  had  been  to  me  a  child's 
dre*un  of  romance.  Rivers,  as  I  pictured  them, 
came  d^wn  from  the  mountains,  and  were  born  in 
the  clouds.  They  were  bordered  by  green  mead 
ows^  and  graceful  trees  leaned  over  to  gaze  into 
their  bright  mirrors.  Our  shallow  tidal  creek  was 
the  only  river  I  had  known,  except  as  visioued 
on  the  pages  of  the  "  Pilgrim's  Progress,"  and  in 
the  Book  of  Revelation.  And  the  Merrimackwas 
like  a  continuation  of  that  dream. 

I  soon  made  myself  familiar  with  the  rocky 
nooks  along  Pawtucket  Falls,  shaded  with  hem 
locks  and  white  birches.  Strange  new  wild  flow 
ers  grew  beside  the  rushing  waters,  —  among  them 
Sir  Walter  Scott's  own  harebells,  which  I  had 
never  thought  of  except  as  blossoms  of  poetry ; 
here  they  were,  as  real  to  me  as  to  his  Lady  of 
the  Lake!  I  loved  the  harebell,  the  first  new 
flower  the  river  gave  me,  as  I  had  never  loved  a 
flower  before. 

There  was  but  one  summer  holiday  for  us  who 


BY  THE  RIVER.  163 

worked  in  the  mills  —  the  Fourth  of  July.  We 
made  a  point  of  spending  it  out  of  doors,  making 
excursions  down  the  river  to  watch  the  meeting 
of  the  slow  Concord  and  the  swift  Merrimack ;  or 
around  by  the  old  canal-path,  to  explore  the  mys^ 
teries  of  the  Guard  Locks ;  or  across  the  bridge, 
clambering  up  Dracut  Heights,  to  look  away  to 
the  dim  blue  mountains. 

On  that  morning  it  was  our  custom  to  wake  one 
another  at  four  o'clock,  and  start  off  on  a  tramp  to 
gether  over  some  retired  road  whose  chief  charm 
was  its  unfamiliarity,  returning  to  a  very  late 
breakfast,  with  draggled  gowns  and  aprons  full  of 
dewy  wild  roses.  No  matter  if  we  must  get  up 
at  five  the  next  morning  and  go  back  to  our  hum 
drum  toil,  we  should  have  the  roses  to  take  with 
us  for  company,  and  the  sweet  air  of  the  wood 
land  which  lingered  about  them  would  scent  our 
thoughts  all  day,  and  make  us  forget  the  oily 
smell  of  the  machinery. 

We  were  children  still,  whether  at  school  or 
at  work,  and  Nature  still  held  us  close  to  her 
motherly  heart.  Nature  came  very  close  to  the 
mill-gates,  too,  in  those  days.  There  was  green 
grass  all  around  them ;  violets  and  wild  gera 
niums  grew  by  the  canals ;  and  long  stretches  of 
open  land  between  the  corporation  buildings  and 
the  street  made  the  town  seem  country-like. 

The  slope  behind  our  mills  (the  "  Lawrence " 
Mills)  was  a  green  lawn ;  and  in  front  of  some 


164  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

of  them  the  overseers  had  gay  flower-gardens; 
we  passed  in  to  our  work  through  a  splendor  of 
dahlias  and  hollyhocks. 

The  gray  stone  walls  of  St.  Anne's  church  and 
rectory  made  a  picturesque  spot  in  the  middle 
of  the  town,  remaining  still  as  a  lasting  monu 
ment  to  the  religious  purpose  which  animated  the 
first  manufacturers.  The  church  arose  close  to 
the  oldest  corporation  (the  "  Merrimack "),  and 
seemed  a  part  of  it,  and  a  part,  also,  of  the  orig 
inal  idea  of  the  place  itself,  which  was  always  a 
city  of  worshipers,  although  it  came  to  be  filled 
with  a  population  which  preferred  meeting-houses 
to  churches.  I  admired  the  church  greatly.  I 
had  never  before  seen  a  real  one ;  never  anything 
but  a  plain  frame  meeting-house ;  and  it  and  its 
benign,  apostolic-looking  rector  were  like  a  leaf 
out  of  an  English  story-book. 

And  so,  also,  was  the  tiny  white  cottage  nearly 
opposite,  set  in  the  middle  of  a  pretty  flower-gar 
den  that  sloped  down  to  the  canal.  In  the  garden 
there  was  almost  always  a  sweet  little  girl  in  a 
pink  gown  and  white  sunbonnet  gathering  flow 
ers  when  I  passed  that  way,  and  I  often  went  out 
of  my  path  to  do  so.  These  relieved  the  mo 
notony  of  the  shanty-like  shops  which  bordered 
the  main  street.  The  town  had  sprung  up  with 
a  mushroom-rapidity,  and  there  was  no  attempt 
at  veiling  the  newness  of  its  bricks  and  mortar, 
its  boards  and  paint. 


BY  THE  RIVER.  165 

But  there  were  buildings  that  had  their  own 
individuality,  and  asserted  it.  One  of  these  was 
a  mud-cabin  with  a  thatched  roof,  that  looked  as 
if  it  had  emigrated  bodily  from  the  bogs  of  Ire 
land.  It  had  settled  itself  down  into  a  green 
hollow  by  the  roadside,  and  it  looked  as  much  at 
home  with  the  lilac-tinted  crane's-bill  and  yellow 
buttercups  as  if  it  had  never  lost  sight  of  the 
shamrocks  of  Erin. 

Now,  too,  my  childish  desire  to  see  a  real  beggar 
was  gratified.  Straggling  petitioners  for  "  cold 
victuals  "  hung  around  our  back  yard,  always  of 
Hibernian  extraction;  and  a  slice  of  bread  was 
rewarded  with  a  shower  of  benedictions  that  lost 
itself  upon  us  in  the  flood  of  its  own  incompre 
hensible  brogue. 

Some  time  every  summer  a  fleet  of  canoes  would 
glide  noiselessly  up  the  river,  and  a  company  of 
Penobscot  Indians  would  land  at  a  green  point 
almost  in  sight  from  our  windows.  Pawtucket 
Falls  had  always  been  one  of  their  favorite  camp 
ing-places.  Their  strange  endeavors  to  combine 
civilization  with  savagery  were  a  great  source  of 
amusement  to  us ;  men  and  women  clad  alike  in 
loose  gowns,  stove-pipe  hats,  and  moccasons  ;  gro 
tesque  relics  of  aboriginal  forest-life.  The  sight 
of  these  uncouth-looking  red  men  made  the  ro 
mance  fade  entirely  out  of  the  Indian  stories  we 
had  heard.  Still  their  wigwam  camp  was  a  show 
We  would  not  willingly  have  missed. 


166  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

The  transition  from  childhood  to  girlhood,  when 
a  little  girl  has  had  an  almost  unlimited  freedom 
of  out-of-door  life,  is  practically  the  toning  down 
of  a  mild  sort  of  barbarianism,  and  is  often  at 
tended  by  a  painfully  awkward  self -consciousness. 
I  had  an  innate  dislike  of  conventionalities.  I 
clung  to  the  child's  inalienable  privilege  of  run 
ning  half  wild ;  and  when  I  found  that  I  really 
was  growing  up,  I  felt  quite  rebellious. 

I  was  as  tall  as  a  woman  at  thirteen,  and  my 
older  sisters  insisted  upon  lengthening  my  dresses, 
and  putting  up  my  mop  of  hair  with  a  comb.  I 
felt  injured  and  almost  outraged  because  my  pro 
testations  against  this  treatment  were  unheeded; 
and  when  the  transformation  in  my  visible  appear 
ance  was  effected,  I  went  away  by  myself  and  had 
a  good  cry,  which  I  would  not  for  the  world  have 
had  them  know  about,  as  that  would  have  added 
humiliation  to  my  distress.  And  the  greatest  pity 
about  it  was  that  I  too  soon  became  accustomed 
to  the  situation.  I  felt  like  a  child,  but  consid 
ered  it  my  duty  to  think  and  behave  like  a  woman. 
I  began  to  look  upon  it  as  a  very  serious  thing  to 
live.  The  untried  burden  seemed  already  to  have 
touched  my  shoulders.  For  a  time  I  was  morbidly 
self  -  critical,  and  at  the  same  time  extremely  re 
served.  The  associates  I  chose  were  usually  grave 
young  women,  ten  or  fifteen  years  older  than  my 
self  ;  but  I  think  I  felt  older  and  appeared  older 
than  they  did. 


BY  THE  RIVER.  167 

Childhood,  however,  is  not  easily  defrauded  of 
its  birthright,  and  mine  soon  reasserted  itself. 
At  home  I  was  among  children  of  my  own  age, 
for  some  cousins  and  other  acquaintances  had 
come  to  live  and  work  with  us.  We  had  our 
evening  frolics  and  entertainments  together,  and 
we  always  made  the  most  of  our  brief  holiday 
hours.  We  had  also  with  us  now  the  sister  Emi- 
lie  of  my  fairy-tale  memories,  who  had  grown  into 
a  strong,  earnest-hearted  woman.  We  all  looked 
up  to  her  as  our  model,  and  the  ideal  of  our  hero 
ine-worship  ;  for  our  deference  to  her  in  every 
way  did  amount  to  that. 

She  watched  over  us,  gave  us  needed  reproof 
and  commendation,  rarely  cosseted  us,  but  rather 
made  us  laugh  at  what  many  would  have  consid 
ered  the  hardships  of  our  lot.  Shejtaught  us  not 
only  to  accept  the  circumstances  in  Which  we 
found  ourselves,  but  to  win  from  them  courage  and 
strength.  When  we  came  in  shivering  from  our 
work,  through  a  snow-storm,  complaining  of  numb 
hands  and  feet,  she  would  say  cheerily,  "  But  it 
does  n't  make  you  any  warmer  to  say  you  are 
cold ;  "  and  this  was  typical  of  the  way  she  took 
life  generally,  and  tried  to  have  us  take  it.  She 
was  constantly  denying  herself  for  our  sakes,  with 
out  making  us  feel  that  she  was  doing  so.  But  she 
did  not  let  us  get  into  the  bad  habit  of  pitying 
ourselves  because  we  were  not  as  "  well  off  "  as 
many  other  children.  And  indeed  we  considered 


168  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

ourselves  pleasantly  situated;  but  the  best  of  it 
all  was  that  we  had  her. 

Her  theories  for  herself,  and  her  practice,  too, 
were  rather  severe ;  but  we  tried  to  follow  them, 
according  to  our  weaker  abilities.  Her  custom 
was,  for  instance,  to  take  a  full  cold  bath  every 
morning  before  she  went  to  her  work,  even  though 
the  water  was  chiefly  broken  ice ;  and  we  did  the 
same  whenever  we  could  be  resolute  enough.  It 
required  both  nerve  and  will  to  do  this  at  five 
o'clock  on  a  zero  morning,  in  a  room  without  a 
fire ;  but  it  helped  us  to  harden  ourselves,  while 
we  formed  a  good  habit.  The  working-day  in 
winter  began  at  the  very  earliest  daylight,  and 
ended  at  half-past  seven  in  the  evening. 

Another  habit  of  hers  was  to  keep  always  be 
side  her  at  her  daily  work  something  to  study  or 
to  think  about.  At  first  it  was  "  Watts  on  the 
Improvement  of  the  Mind,"  arranged  as  a  text 
book,  with  questions  and  answers,  by  the  minis 
ter  of  Beverly  who  had  made  the  thought  of  the 
millennium  such  a  reality  to  his  people.  She 
quite  wore  this  book  out,  carrying  it  about  with 
her  in  her  working  -  dress  pocket.  After  that, 
"  Locke  on  the  Understanding  "  was  used  in  the 
same  way.  She  must  have  known  both  books 
through  and  through  by  heart.  Then  she  read 
Combe  and  Abercrombie,  and  discussed  their 
physics  and  metaphysics  with  our  girl  boarders, 
some  of  whom  had  remarkably  acute  and  well- 


BY  THE  RIVER.  169 

balanced  minds.  Her  own  seemed  to  have  turned 
from  its  early  bent  toward  the  romantic,  her  taste 
being  now  for  serious  and  practical,  though  some 
times  abstruse,  themes.  I  remember  that  Young 
and  Pollok  were  her  favorite  poets. 

I  could  not  keep  up  with  her  in  her  studies  and 
readings,  for  many  of  the  books  she  liked  seemed 
to  me  very  dry.  I  did  not  easily  take  to  the  ar 
gumentative  or  moralizing  method,  which  I  came 
to  regard  as  a  proof  of  the  weakness  of  my  own 
intellect  in  comparison  with  hers.  I  would  gladly 
have  kept  pace  with  her  if  I  could.  Anything 
under  the  heading  of  "  Didactick,"  like  some  of 
the  pieces  in  the  old  "  English  Reader,"  used  by 
school-children  in  the  generation  just  before  ours, 
always  repelled  me.  But  I  thought  it  neces 
sary  to  discipline  myself  by  reading  such  pieces, 
and  my  first  attempt  at  prose  composition,  "  On 
Friendship,"  was  stiffly  modeled  after  a  certain 
"  Didactick  Essay  "  in  that  same  English  Reader. 

My  sister,  however,  cared  more  to  watch  the 
natural  development  of  our  minds  than  to  make 
us  follow  the  direction  of  hers.  She  was  really 
our  teacher,  although  she  never  assumed  that  po 
sition.  Certainly  I  learned  more  from  her  about 
my  own  capabilities,  and  how  I  might  put  them 
to  use,  than  I  could  have  done  at  any  school  we 
knew  of,  had  it  been  possible  for  me  to  attend 
one. 

I  think  she  was  determined  that  we  should  not 


170  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

be  mentally  defrauded  by  the  circumstances  which 
had  made  it  necessary  for  us  to  begin  so  early  to 
win  our  daily  bread.  This  remark  applies  espe 
cially  to  me,  as  my  older  sisters  (only  two  or  three 
of  them  had  come  to  Lowell)  soon~drifted  away 
from  us  into  their  own  new  homes  or  occupa 
tions,  and  she  and  I  were  left  together  amid  the 
whir  of  spindles  and  wheels. 

One  thing  she  planned  for  us,  her  younger 
housemates,  —  a  dozen  or  so  of  cousins,  friends, 
and  sisters,  some  attending  school,  and  some  at 
work  in  the  mill,  —  was  a  little  fortnightly  paper, 
to  be  filled  with  our  original  contributions,  she 
herself  acting  as  editor. 

I  do  not  know  where  she  got  the  idea,  unless  it 
was  from  Mrs.  Lydia  Maria  Child's  "Juvenile 
Miscellany,"  which  had  found  its  way  to  us  some 
years  before,  —  a  most  delightful  guest,  and,  I 
think,  the  first  magazine  prepared  for  American 
children,  who  have  had  so  many  since  then.  (I 
have  always  been  glad  that  I  knew  that  sweet 
woman  with  the  child's  heart  and  the  poet's  soul, 
in  her  later  years,  and  could  tell  her  how  happy 
she  had  helped  to  make  my  childhood.)  Our  lit 
tle  sheet  was  called  "  The  Diving  Bell,"  probably 
from  the  sea-associations  of  the  name.  We  kept 
our  secrets  of  authorship  very  close  from  every 
body  except  the  editor,  who  had  to  decipher  the 
handwriting  and  copy  the  pieces.  It  was,  indeed, 
an  important  part  of  the  fun  to  guess  who  wrote 


BY  THE  RIVER.  171 

particular  pieces.  After  a  little  while,  however, 
our  mannerisms  betrayed  us.  One  of  my  cousins 
was  known  to  be  the  chief  story-teller,  and  I  was 
recognized  as  the  leading  rhymer  among  the 
younger  contributors ;  the  editor-sister  excelling 
in  her  versifying,  as  she  did  in  almost  every 
thing. 

It  was  a  cluster  of  very  conscious-looking  lit 
tle  girls  that  assembled  one  evening  in  the  attic 
room,  chosen  on  account  of  its  remoteness  from 
intruders  (for  we  did  not  admit  even  the  family 
as  a  public  ;  the  writers  themselves  were  the  only 
audience)  ;  to  listen  to  the  reading  of  our  first 
paper.  We  took  Saturday  evening,  because  that 
was  longer  than  the  other  work-day  evenings,  the 
mills  being  closed  earlier.  Such  guessing  and 
wondering  and  admiring  as  we  had !  But  nobody 
would  acknowledge  her  own  work,  for  that  would 
have  spoiled  the  pleasure.  Only  there  were  cer 
tain  wise  hints  and  maxims  that  we  knew  never 
came  from  any  juvenile  head  among  us,  and  those 
we  set  down  as  "  editorials." 

Some  of  the  stories  contained  rather  remark 
able  incidents.  One,  written  to  illustrate  a  little 
girl's  habit  of  carelessness  about  her  own  spe 
cial  belongings,  told  of  her  rising  one  morning, 
and  after  hunting  around  for  her  shoes  half  an 
hour  or  so,  finding  them  in  the  book-case,  where 
she  had  accidentally  locked  them  up  the  night 
before ! 


172  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

To  convince  myself  that  I  could  write  some 
thing  besides  rhymes,  I  had  attempted  an  essay 
of  half  a  column  on  a  very  extensive  subject, 
"  MIND."  It  began  loftily  : — 

"  What  a  noble  and  beautiful  thing  is  mind  !  " 
and  it  went  on  in  the  same  high-flown  strain  to 
no  particular  end.  But  the  editor  praised  it, 
after  having  declined  the  verdict  of  the  audience 
that  she  was  its  author ;  and  I  felt  sufficiently 
flattered  by  both  judgments. 

I  wrote  more  rhymes  than  anything  else,  be 
cause  they  came  more  easily.  But  I  always  felt 
that  the  ability  to  write  good  prose  was  far  more 
desirable,  and  it  seems  so  to  me  still.  I  will  give 
my  little  girl  readers  a  single  specimen  of  my 
twelve-year-old  "  Diving  Bell "  verses,  though  I 
feel  as  if  I  ought  to  apologize  even  for  that.  It 
is  on  a  common  subject,  "  Life  like  a  Rose  "  :  — 

Childhood  's  like  a  tender  bud 

That 's  scarce  been  formed  an  hour, 

But  which  erelong  will  doubtless  be 
A  bright  and  lovely  flower. 


And  youth  is  like  a  full-blown  rose 
Which  has  not  known  decay ; 

But  which  must  soon,  alas !  too  soonl 
Wither  and  fade  away. 

And  age  is  like  a  withered  rose, 
That  bends  beneath  the  blast; 

But  though  its  beauty  all  is  gone, 
Its  fragrance  yet  may  last. 


BY  THE  RIVER.  173 

This,  and  other  verses  that  I  wrote  then,  serve 
to  illustrate  the  child's  usual  inclination  to  look 
forward  meditatively,  rather  than  to  think  and 
write  of  the  simple  things  that  belong  to  chil 
dren. 

Our  small  venture  set  some  of  us  imagining 
what  larger  possibilities  might  be  before  us  in 
the  far  future.  We  talked  over  the  things  we 
should  like  to  do  when  we  should  be  women  out 
in  the  active  world ;  and  the  author  of  the  shoe- 
story  horrified  us  by  declaring  that  she  meant  to 
be  distinguished  when  she  grew  up  for  some 
thing,  even  if  it  was  for  something  bad  !  She  did 
go  so  far  in  a  bad  way  as  to  plagiarize  a  long 
poem  in  a  subsequent  number  of  the  "  Diving 
Bell "  ;  but  the  editor  found  her  out,  and  we  all 
thought  that  a  reproof  from  Emilie  was  suffi 
cient  punishment. 

I  do  not  know  whether  it  was  fortunate  or  un 
fortunate  for  me  that  I  had  not,  by  nature,  what 
is  called  literary  ambition.  I  knew  that  I  had  a 
knack  at  rhyming,  and  I  knew  that  I  enjoyed 
nothing  better  than  to  try  to  put  thoughts  and 
words  together,  in  any  way.  But  I  did  it  for  the 
pleasure  of  rhyming  and  writing,  indifferent  as 
to  what  might  come  of  it.  For  any  one  who  could 
take  hold  of  every-day,  practical  work,  and  carry 
it  on  successfully,  I  had  a  profound  respect.  To 
be  what  is  called  "  capable  "  seemed  to  me  better 
worth  while  than  merely  to  have  a  taste  or  talent 


174  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

for  writing,  perhaps  because  I  was  conscious  of 
my  deficiencies  in  the  former  respect.  But  cer 
tainly  the  world  needs  deeds  more  than  it  needs 
words.  I  should  never  have  been  willing  to  be 
only  a  writer,  without  using  my  hands  to  some 
good  purpose  besides. 

My  sister,  however,  told  me  that  here  was  a 
talent  which  I  had  no  right  to  neglect,  and  which 
I  ought  to  make  the  most  of.  I  believed  in  her  5 
I  thought  she  understood  me  better  than  I  under 
stood  myself ;  and  it  was  a  comfort  to  be  assured 
that  my  scribbling  was  not  wholly  a  waste  of  time. 
So  I  used  pencil  and  paper  in  every  spare  min 
ute  I  could  find. 

Our  little  home-journal  went  bravely  on  through 
twelve  numbers.  Its  yellow  manuscript  pages 
occasionally  meet  my  eyes  when  I  am  rummaging 
among  my  old  papers,  with  the  half-conscious  look 
of  a  waif  that  knows  it  has  no  right  to  its  escape 
from  the  waters  of  oblivion. 

While  it  was  in  progress  my  sister  Emilie  be 
came  acquainted  with  a  family  of  bright  girls, 
near  neighbors  of  ours,  who  proposed  that  we 
should  join  with  them,  and  form  a  little  society 
for  writing  and  discussion,  to  meet  fortnightly  at 
their  house.  We  met,  —  I  think  I  was  the  young 
est  of  the  group,  —  prepared  a  Constitution  and 
By-Laws,  and  named  ourselves  "  The  Improve 
ment  Circle."  If  I  remember  rightly,  my  sister 
was  our  first  president.  The  older  ones  talked 


BY  TEE  RIVER.  175 

and  wrote  on  many  subjects  quite  above  me.  I 
was  shrinkingly  bashful,  as  half-grown  girls  usu 
ally  are,  but  I  wrote  my  little  essays  and  read 
them,  and  listened  to  the  rest,  and  enjoyed  it  all 
exceedingly.  Out  of  this  little  "  Improvement 
Circle  "  grew  the  larger  one  whence  issued  the 
"  Lowell  Offering,"  a  year  or  two  later. 

At  this  time  I  had  learned  to  do  a  spinner's 
work,  and  I  obtained  permission  to  tend  some 
frames  that  stood  directly  in  front  of  the  river- 
windows,  with  only  them  and  the  wall  behind  me, 
extending  half  the  length  of  the  mill,  —  and  one 
young  woman  beside  me,  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
row.  She  was  a  sober,  mature  person,  who  scarcely 
thought  it  worth  her  while  to  speak  often  to  a 
child  like  me;  and  I  was,  when  with  strangers, 
rather  a  reserved  girl ;  so  I  kept  myself  occu 
pied  with  the  river,  my  work,  and  my  thoughts. 
And  the  river  and  my  thoughts  flowed  on  to 
gether,  the  happiest  of  companions.  Like  a  loi 
tering  pilgrim,  it  sparkled  up  to  me  in  recogni 
tion  as  it  glided  along,  and  bore  away  my  little 
frets  and  fatigues  on  its  bosom.  When  the  work 
"  went  well,"  I  sat  in  the  window-seat,  and  let 
my  fancies  fly  whither  they  would,  —  downward 
to  the  sea,  or  upward  to  the  hills  that  hid  the 
mountain-cradle  of  the  Merrimack. 

The  printed  regulations  forbade  us  to  bring 
books  into  the  mill,  so  I  made  my  window-seat 
into  a  small  library  of  poetry,  pasting  its  side  all 


176  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

over  with  newspaper  clippings.  In  those  days  we 
had  only  weekly  papers,  and  they  had  always  a 
"  poet's  corner,"  where  standard  writers  were  well 
represented,  with  anonymous  ones,  also.  I  was 
not,  of  course,  much  of  a  critic.  I  chose  my 
verses  for  their  sentiment,  and  because  I  wanted 
to  commit  them  to  memory ;  sometimes  it  was  a 
long  poem,  sometimes  a  hymn,  sometimes  only  a 
stray  verse.  Mrs.  Hemans  sang  with  me,  — 

"  Far  away,  o'er  the  blue  hills  far  away ;  " 

and  I  learned  and  loved  her  "  Better  Land,"  and 

"  If  thou  hast  crushed  a  flower," 

and  "  Kindred  Hearts." 

I  wonder  if  Miss  Landon  really  did  write  that 
fine  poem  to  Mont  Blanc  which  was  printed  in 
her  volume,  but  which  sounds  so  entirely  unlike 
everything  else  she  wrote !  This  was  one  of  my 
window-gems.  It  ended  with  the  appeal,  — 

'*  Alas  for  thy  past  mystery ! 

For  thine  untrodden  snow  ! 
Nurse  of  the  tempest !  hast  thou  none 
To  guard  thine  outraged  brow  ?  " 

and  it  contained  a  stanza  that  I  often  now  repeat 
to  myself :  — 

"  We  know  too  much :  scroll  after  scroll 

Weighs  down  our  weary  shelves : 
Our  only  point  of  ignorance 
Is  centred  in  ourselves." 

There  was  one  anonymous  waif  in  my  collec 
tion  that  I  was  very  fond  of.  I  have  never  seen 
it  since,  nor  ever  had  the  least  clue  to  its  au- 


BY  THE  RIVER.  177 

thorship.  It  stirred  me  and  haunted  me ;  and  it 
often  comes  back  to  me  now,  in  snatches  like 
these :  — 

"  The  human  mind  !    That  lofty  thing, 

The  palace  and  the  throne 
Where  Reason  sits,  a  sceptred  king1, 
And  breathes  his  judgment- tone ! 

"  The  human  soul !    That  startling  thing, 

Mysterious  and  suhlime ; 
An  angel  sleeping  on  the  wing, 
Worn  by  the  scoffs  of  time. 
From  heaven  in  tears  to  earth  it  stole  — 
That  startling  thing,  the  human  soul." 

I  was  just  beginning,  in  my  questionings  as  to 
the  meaning  of  life,  to  get  glimpses  of  its  true 
definition  from  the  poets,  —  that  it  is  love,  service, 
the  sacrifice  of  self  for  others*  good.  The  lesson 
was  slowly  learned,  but  every  hint  of  it  went  to 
my  heart,  and  I  kept  in  sight  upon  my  win 
dow  wall  reminders  like  that  of  holy  George  Her 
bert:— 

"  Be  useful  where  thou  livest,  that  they  may 
Both  want  and  wish  thy  pleasing  presence  still. 

—  Find  out  men's  wants  and  will, 
And  meet  them  there.  All  worldly  joys  go  less 
To  the  one  joy  of  doing  kindnesses ;  " 

and  that  well-known  passage  from  Talfourd,  — •» 

"  The  blessings  which  the  weak  and  poor  can  scatter, 
Have  their  own  season. 
It  is  a  little  thing  to  speak  a  phrase 
Of  common  comfort,  which,  by  daily  use, 
Has  almost  lost  its  sense ;  yet  on  the  ear 
Of  him  who  thought  to  die  unmourned  't  will  fglj 
Like  choicest  music." 


178          A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

A  very  familiar  extract  from  Carlos  Wilcox, 
almost  the  only  quotation  made  nowadays  from  his 
poems,  was  often  on  my  sister  Emilie's  lips,  who.se 
heart  seemed  always  to  be  saying  to  itself :  — 

"  Pour  blessings  round  thee  like  a  shower  of  gold  I  " 

I  had  that  beside  me,  too,  and  I  copy  part  of  it 
here,  for  her  sake,  and  because  it  will  be  good 
for  my  girl  readers  to  keep  in  mind  one  of  the 
noblest  utterances  of  an  almost  forgotten  Amerb 
can  poet :  — 

"  Rouse  to  some  work  of  high  and  holy  love, 

And  thou  an  angel's  happiness  shalt  know ; 
Shalt  bless  the  earth  while  in  the  world  above. 
The  good  begun  by  thee  shall  onward  flow. 
The  pure,  sweet  stream  shall  deeper,  wider  grow* 
The  seed  that  in  these  few  and  fleeting  hours 
Thy  hands,  unsparing  and  unwearied  sow, 
Shall  deck  thy  grave  with  amaranthine  flowers, 
And  yield  thee  fruits  divine  in  heaven's  immortal  bowers." 

One  great  advantage  which  came  to  these  many 
stranger  girls  through  being  brought  together, 
away  from  their  own  homes,  was  that  it  taught 
them  to  go  out  of  themselves,  and  enter  into  the 
lives  of  others.  Home-life,  when  one  always  stays 
at  home,  is  necessarily  narrowing.  That  is  one 
reason  why  so  many  women  are  petty  and  un- 
thoughtful  of  any  except  their  own  family's  inter 
ests.  We  have  hardly  begun  to  live  until  we  can 
take  in  the  idea  of  the  whole  human  family  as  the 
one  to  which  we  truly  belong.  To  me,  it  was  an 
incalculable  help  to  find  myself  among  so  many 


BY  THE  RIVER.  179 

working-girls,  all  of  us  thrown  upon  our  own  re 
sources,  but  thrown  much  more  upon  each  others' 
sympathies. 

And  the  stream  beside  which  we  toiled  added 
to  its  own  inspirations  human  suggestions  drawn 
from  our  acquaintance  with  each  other.  It 
blended  itself  with  the  flow  of  our  lives.  Almost 
the  first  of  my  poemlets  in  the  "Lowell  Offer 
ing  "  was  entitled  "  The  River."  These  are  some 
lines  of  it :  — 

Gently  flowed  a  river  bright 
On  its  path  of  liquid  light, 
Gleaming  now  soft  banks  between, 
Winding  now  through  valleys  green, 
Cheering  with  its  presence  mild 
Cultured  fields  and  woodlands  wild. 

Is  not  such  a  pure  one's  life  ? 
Ever  shunning  pride  and  strife, 
Noiselessly  along  she  goes, 
Known  by  gentle  deeds  she  does ; 
Often  wandering  far,  to  bless, 
And  do  others  kindnesses. 

Thus,  by  her  own  virtues  shaded, 

While  pure  thoughts,  like  starbeams,  lie 

Mirrored  in  her  heart  and  eye, 

She,  content  to  be  unknown, 

All  serenely  moveth  on, 

Till,  released  from  Time's  commotion. 

Self  is  lost  in  Love's  wide  ocean. 

There  was  many  a  young  girl  near  me  whose 
life  was  like  the  beautiful  course  of  the  river  in 
my  ideal  of  her.  The  Merrimack  has  blent  its 


180  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

music  with  the  onward  song  of  many  a  lovely 
soul  that,  clad  in  plain  working-clothes,  moved 
heavenward  beside  its  waters. 

One  of  the  loveliest  persons  I  ever  knew  was  a 
young  girl  who  worked  opposite  to  me  in  the 
spinning-room.  Our  eyes  made  us  friends  long 
before  we  spoke  to  each  other.  She  was  an  or 
phan,  well-bred  and  well-educated,  about  twenty 
years  old,  and  she  had  brought  with  her  to  her 
place  of  toil  the  orphan  child  of  her  sister,  left  to 
her  as  a  death-bed  legacy.  They  boarded  with  a 
relative.  The  factory  boarding-houses  were  often 
managed  by  families  of  genuine  refinement,  as  in 
this  case,  and  the  one  comfort  of  Caroline's  life 
was  her  beautiful  little  niece,  to  whom  she  could 
go  home  when  the  day's  work  was  over. 

Her  bereavements  had  given  an  appealing  sad 
ness  to  her  whole  expression;  but  she  had  ac 
cepted  them  and  her  changed  circumstances  with 
the  submission  of  profound  faith  which  every 
body  about  her  felt  in  everything  she  said  and 
did.  I  think  I  first  knew,  through  her,  how  char 
acter  can  teach,  without  words.  To  see  her  and 
her  little  niece  together  was  almost  like  looking 
at  a  picture  of  the  Madonna.  Caroline  after 
wards  became  an  inmate  of  my  mother's  family, 
and  we  were  warm  friends  until  her  death  a  few 
years  ago. 

Some  of  the  girls  could  not  believe  that  the 
Bible  was  meant  to  be  counted  among  forbidden 


BY  THE  RIVER.  181 

books.  We  all  thought  that  the  Scriptures  had 
a  right  to  go  wherever  we  went,  and  that  if  we 
needed  them  anywhere,  it  was  at  our  work.  I 
evaded  the  law  by  carrying  some  leaves  from  a 
torn  Testament  in  my  pocket. 

The  overseer,  caring  more  for  law  than  gospel, 
confiscated  all  he  found.  He  had  his  desk  full  of 
Bibles.  It  sounded  oddly  to  hear  him  say  to  the 
most  religious  girl  in  the  room,  when  he  took 
hers  away,  "  I  did  think  you  had  more  conscience 
than  to  bring  that  book  here."  But  we  had  some 
close  ethical  questions  to  settle  in  those  days.  It 
was  a  rigid  code  of  morality  under  which  we 
lived.  Nobody  complained  of  it,  however,  and 
we  were  doubtless  better  off  for  its  strictness,  in 
the  end. 

The  last  window  in  the  row  behind  me  was 
filled  with  flourishing  house-plants  —  fragrant- 
leaved  geraniums,  the  overseer's  pets.  They  gave 
that  corner  a  bowery  look;  the  perfume  and 
freshness  tempted  me  there  often.  Standing  be 
fore  that  window,  I  could  look  across  the  room 
and  see  girls  moving  backwards  and  forwards 
among  the  spinning-frames,  sometimes  stooping, 
sometimes  reaching  up  their  arms,  as  their  work 
required,  with  easy  and  not  ungraceful  move 
ments.  On  the  whole,  it  was  far  from  being  a 
disagreeable  place  to  stay  in.  The  girls  were 
bright-looking  and  neat,  and  everything  was  kept 
clean  and  shining.  The  effect  of  the  whole  was 
rather  attractive  to  strangers. 


182          A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

My  grandfather  came  to  see  my  mother  once  at 
about  this  time  and  visited  the  mills.  When  he 
had  entered  our  room,  and  looked  around  for  a 
moment,  he  took  off  his  hat  and  made  a  low  bow 
to  the  girls,  first  toward  the  right,  and  then  to 
ward  the  left.  We  were  familiar  with  his  courte 
ous  habits,  partly  due  to  his  French  descent ;  but 
we  had  never  seen  anybody  bow  to  a  room  full  of 
mill  girls  in  that  polite  way,  and  some  one  of  the 
family  afterwards  asked  him  why  he  did  so.  He 
looked  a  little  surprised  at  the  question,  but 
answered  promptly  and  with  dignity,  "I  always 
take  off  my  hat  to  ladies." 

His  courtesy  was  genuine.  Still,  we  did  not 
call  ourselves  ladies.  We  did  not  forget  that  we 
were  working-girls,  wearing  coarse  aprons  suit 
able  to  our  work,  and  that  there  was  some  danger 
of  our  becoming  drudges.  I  know  that  sometimes 
the  confinement  of  the  mill  became  very  weari 
some  to  me.  In  the  sweet  June  weather  I  would 
lean  far  out  of  the  window,  and  try  not  to-  hear 
the  unceasing  clash  of  sound  inside.  Looking 
away  to  the  hills,  my  whole  stifled  being  would 
cry  out 

"Oh,  that  I  had  wings!" 

Still  I  was  there  from  choice,  and 

"  The  prison  unto  which  we  doom  ourselves, 
No  prison  is." 

And  I  was  every  day  making  discoveries  about 
life,  and  about  myself.     I  had   naturally  some 


BY  THE  RIVER.  183 

elements  of  the  recluse,  and  would  never,  of  my 
own  choice,  have  lived  in  a  crowd.  I  loved  quiet 
ness.  The  noise  of  machinery  was  particularly  dis 
tasteful  to  me.  But  I  found  that  the  crowd  was 
made  up  of  single  human  lives,  not  one  of  them 
wholly  uninteresting,  when  separately  known.  I 
learned  also  that  there  are  many  things  which 
belong  to  the  whole  world  of  us  together,  that 
no  one  of  us,  nor  any  few  of  us,  can  claim  or 
enjoy  for  ourselves  alone.  I  discovered,  too,  that 
I  could  so  accustom  myself  to  the  noise  that  it 
became  like  a  silence  to  me.  And  I  defied  the 
machinery  to  make  me  its  slave.  Its  incessant  dis 
cords  could  not  drown  the  music  of  my  thoughts 
I  if  I  would  let  them  fly  high  enough.  Even  the 
long  hours,  the  early  rising,  and  the  regularity 
enforced  by  the  clangor  of  the  bell  were  good 
discipline  for  one  who  was  naturally  inclined  to 
dally  and  to  dream,  and  who  loved  her  own  per 
sonal  liberty  with  a  willful  rebellion  against  con 
trol.  Perhaps  I  could  have  brought  myself  into 
the  limitations  of  order  and  method  in  no  other 
way. 

Like  a  plant  that  starts  up  in  showers  and  sun 
shine  and  does  not  know  which  has  best  helped 
it  to  grow,  it  is  difficult  to  say  whether  the  hard 
things  or  the  pleasant  things  did  me  most  good. 
But  when  I  was  sincerest  with  myself,  as  also 
when  I  thought  least  about  it,  I  know  that  I  was 
glad  to  be  alive,  and  to  be  just  where  I  was. 


184  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

It  is  a  conquest  when  we  can  lift  ourselves  above 
the  annoyances  of  circumstances  over  which  we 
have  no  control ;  but  it  is  a  greater  victory  when 
we  can  make  those  circumstances  our  helpers,  — 
when  we  can  appreciate  the  good  there  is  in  them. 
It  has  often  seemed  to  me  as  if  Life  stood  beside 
me,  looking  me  in  the  face,  and  saying,  "  Child, 
you  must  learn  to  like  me  in  the  form  in  which 
you  see  me,  before  I  can  offer  myself  to  you  in 
any  other  aspect." 

It  was  so  with  this  disagreeable  necessity  of 
living  among  many  people.  There  is  nothing 
more  miserable  than  to  lose  the  feeling  of  our 
own  distinctiveness,  since  that  is  our  only  clue  to 
the  Purpose  behind  us  and  the  End  before  us. 
But  when  we  have  discovered  that  human  beings 
are  not  a  mere  "mass,"  but  an  orderly  Whole, 
of  which  we  are  a  part,  it  is  all  so  different ! 

This  we  working-girls  might  have  learned  from 
the  webs  of  cloth  we  saw  woven  around  us.  Every 
little  thread  must  take  its  place  as  warp  or  woof, 
and  keep  in  it  steadily.  Left  to  itself,  it  would 
be  only  a  loose,  useless  filament.  Trying  to  wander 
in  an  independent  or  a  disconnected  way  among 
the  other  threads,  it  would  make  of  the  whole 
web  an  inextricable  snarl.  Yet  each  little  thread 
must  be  as  firmly  spun  as  if  it  were  the  only  one, 
or  the  result  would  be  a  worthless  fabric. 

That  we  are  entirely  separate,  while  yet  we 
entirely  belong  to  the  Whole,  is  a  truth  that  we 


BY  THE  RIVER,  185 

learn  to  rejoice  in,  as  we  come  to  understand 
more  and  more  of  ourselves,  and  of  this  human 
life  of  ours,  which  seems  so  complicated,  and  yet 
is  so  simple.  And  when  we  once  get  a  glimpse  of 
the  Divine  Plan  in  it  all,  and  know  that  to  be  just 
where  we  are,  doing  just  what  we  are  doing  just 
at  this  hour  because  it  is  our  appointed  hour,  — 
when  we  become  aware  that  this  is  the  very  best 
thing  possible  for  us  in  God's  universe,  the  hard 
task  grows  easy,  the  tiresome  employment  wel 
come  and  delightful.  Having  fitted  ourselves  to 
our  present  work  in  such  a  way  as  this,  we  are 
usually  prepared  for  better  work,  and  are  sent  to 
take  a  better  place. 

Perhaps  this  is  one  of  the  unfailing  laws  of 
progress  in  our  being.  Perhaps  the  Master  of 
Life  always  rewards  those  who  do  their  little 
faithfully  by  giving  them  some  greater  oppor 
tunity  for  faithfulness.  Certainly,  it  is  a  com 
fort,  wherever  we  are,  to  say  to  ourselves :  — 

**  Thou  earnest  not  to  thy  place  by  accident,  " 
It  is  the  very  place  God  meant  for  thee." 


IX. 

MOUNTAIN-FRIENDS. 

THE  pleasure  we  found  in  making  new  ao« 
quaintances  among  our  workmates  arose  partly 
from  their  having  come  from  great  distances,  re 
gions  unknown  to  us,  as  the  northern  districts  of 
Maine  and  New  Hampshire  and  Vermont  were, 
in  those  days  of  stage-coach  traveling,  when  rail 
roads  had  as  yet  only  connected  the  larger  cities 
with  one  another. 

It  seemed  wonderful  to  me  to  be  talking  with 
anybody  who  had  really  seen  mountains  and  lived 
among  them.  One  of  the  younger  girls,  who 
worked  beside  me  during  my  very  first  days  in 
the  mill,  had  come  from  far  up  near  the  sources 
of  the  Merrimack,  and  she  told  me  a  great  deal 
about  her  home,  and  about  farm-life  among  the 
hills.  I  listened  almost  with  awe  when  she  said 
that  she  lived  in  a  valley  where  the  sun  set  at  four 
o'clock,  and  where  the  great  snow-storms  drifted 
in  so  that  sometimes  they  did  not  see  a  neighbor 
for  weeks. 

To  have  mountain-summits  looking  down  upon 
one  out  of  the  clouds,  summer  and  winter,  by  day 
and  by  night,  seemed  to  me  something  both  de« 


MOUNTAIN-FRIENDS.  1ST 

lightful  and  terrible.  And  yet  here  was  this  girl 
to  whom  it  all  appeared  like  the  merest  common 
place.  What  she  felt  about  it  was  that  it  was 
"  awful  cold,  sometimes ;  the  days  were  so  short ! 
and  it  grew  dark  so  early !  "  Then  she  told  me 
about  the  spinning,  and  the  husking,  and  the 
sugar-making,  while  we  sat  in  a  corner  together, 
waiting  to  replace  the  full  spools  by  empty  ones, 
—  the  work  usually  given  to  the  little  girls. 

I  had  a  great  admiration  for  this  girl,  because 
she  had  come  from  those  wilderness-regions.  The 
scent  of  pine  -  woods  and  checkerberry  -  leaves 
seemed  to  hang  about  her.  I  believe  I  liked 
her  all  the  better  because  she  said  "daown" 
and  "haow."  It  was  part  of  the  mountain- 
flavor. 

I  tried,  on  my  part,  to  impress  her  with  stories 
of  the  sea  ;  but  I  did  not  succeed  very  well.  Her 
principal  comment  was,  "  They  don't  think  much 
of  sailors  up  aour  way."  And  I  received  the  im 
pression,  from  her  and  others,  and  from  my  own 
imagination,  that  rural  life  was  far  more  delight 
ful  than  the  life  of  towns. 

But  there  is  something  in  the  place  where  we 
were  born  that  holds  us  always  by  the  heart 
strings.  A  town  that  still  has  a  great  deal  of 
the  country  in  it,  one  that  is  rich  in  beautiful 
scenery  and  ancestral  associations,  is  almost  like 
a  living  being,  with  a  body  and  a  soul.  We 
speak  of  such  a  town,  if  our  birthplace,  as  of  a 


188  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

mother,  and  think  of  ourselves  as  her  sons  and 
daughters. 

So  we  felt,  my  sisters  and  I,  about  our  dear 
native  town  of  Beverly.  Its  miles  of  sea-border, 
almost  every  sunny  cove  and  rocky  headland  of 
which  was  a  part  of  some  near  relative's  home 
stead,  were  only  half  a  day's  journey  distant ;  and 
the  misty  ocean-spaces  beyond  still  widened  out 
on  our  imagination  from  the  green  inland  land 
scape  around  us.  But  the  hills  sometimes  shut 
us  in,  body  and  soul.  To  those  who  have  been 
reared  by  the  sea  a  wide  horizon  is  a  necessity, 
both  for  the  mind  and  for  the  eye. 

We  had  many  opportunities  of  escape  towards 
our  native  shores,  for  the  larger  part  of  our  large 
family  still  remained  there,  and  there  was  a  con 
stant  coming  and  going  among  us.  The  stage- 
driver  looked  upon  us  as  his  especial  charge,  and 
we  had  a  sense  of  personal  property  in  the  Salem 
and  Lowell  stage-coach,  which  had  once,  like  a 
fairy-godmother's  coach,  rumbled  down  into  our 
own  little  lane,  taken  possession  of  us,  and  carried 
us  off  to  a  new  home. 

My  married  sisters  had  families  growing  up 
about  them,  and  they  liked  to  have  us  younger 
ones  come  and  help  take  care  of  their  babies. 
One  of  them  sent  for  me  just  when  the  close  air 
and  long  days'  work  were  beginning  to  tell  upon 
my  health,  and  it  was  decided  that  I  had  better 
go.  The  salt  wind  soon  restored  my  strength,  and 


MOUNTAIN-FRIENDS.  189 

those  months  of  quiet  family  life  were  very  good 
for  me. 

Like  most  young  girls,  I  had  a  motherly  fond 
ness  for  little  children,  and  my  two  baby-nephews 
were  my  pride  and  delight.  The  older  one  had  a 
delicate  constitution,  and  there  was  a  thoughtful, 
questioning  look  in  his  eyes,  that  seemed  to  gaze 
forward  almost  sadly,  and  foresee  that  he  should 
never  attain  to  manhood.  The  younger,  a  plump, 
vigorous  urchin,  three  or  four  months  old,  did, 
without  doubt,  "  feel  his  life  in  every  limb."  He 
was  my  especial  charge,  for  his  brother's  clinging 
weakness  gave  him,  the  first-born,  the  place  near 
est  his  mother's  heart.  The  baby  bore  the  family 
name,  mine  and  his  mother's  ;  "  our  little  Lark," 
we  sometimes  called  him,  for  his  wide-awakeness 
and  his  merry-heartedness.  (Alas!  neither  of 
those  beautiful  boys  grew  up  to  be  men!  One 
page  of  my  home-memories  is  sadly  written  over 
with  their  elegy,  the  "  Graves  of  a  Household." 
Father,  mother,  and  four  sons,  an  entire  family, 
long  since  passed  away  from  earthly  sight.) 

The  tie  between  my  lovely  baby-nephew  and 
myself  became  very  close.  The  first  two  years  of 
a  child's  life  are  its  most  appealing  years,  and  call 
out  all  the  latent  tenderness  of  the  nature  on 
which  it  leans  for  protection.  I  think  I  should 
have  missed  one  of  the  best  educating  influences 
of  my  youth,  if  I  had  not  had  the  care  of  that 
baby  for  a  year  or  more,  just  as  I  entered  my 


190  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

teens.  I  was  never  so  happy  as  when  I  held  him 
in  my  arms,  sleeping  or  waking ;  and  he,  happy 
anywhere,  was  always  contented  when  he  was 
with  me. 

I  was  as  fond  as  ever  of  reading,  and  somehow 
I  managed  to  combine  baby  and  book.  Dickens's 
"  Old  Curiosity  Shop  "  was  just  then  coming  out 
in  a  Philadelphia  weekly  paper,  and  I  read  it 
with  the  baby  playing  at  my  feet,  or  lying  across 
my  lap,  in  an  unfinished  room  given  up  to  sea- 
chests  and  coffee-bags  and  spicy  foreign  odors. 
(My  cherub's  papa  was  a  sea-captain,  usually 
away  on  his  African  voyages.)  Little  Nell  and 
her  grandfather  became  as  real  to  me  as  my 
darling  charge,  and  if  a  tear  from  his  nurse's  eyes 
sometimes  dropped  upon  his  cheek  as  he  slept,  he 
was  not  saddened  by  it.  When  he  awoke  he  was 
irrepressible  ;  clutching  at  my  hair  with  his  stout 
pink  fists,  and  driving  all  dream-people  effectually 
out  of  my  head.  Like  all  babies,  he  was  some 
thing  of  a  tyrant ;  but  that  brief,  sweet  despotism 
ends  only  too  soon.  I  put  him  gratefully  down, 
dimpled,  chubby,  and  imperious,  upon  the  list  of 
my  girlhood's  teachers. 

My  sister  had  no  domestic  help  besides  mine, 
so  I  learned  a  good  deal  about  general  house 
work.  A  girl's  preparation  for  life  was,  in  those 
days,  considered  quite  imperfect,  who  had  no  prac 
tical  knowledge  of  that  kind.  We  were  taught, 
indeed,  how  to  do  everything  that  a  woman  might 


MOUNTAIN-FRIENDS.  191 

be  called  upon  to  do  under  any  circumstances, 
for  herself  or  for  the  household  she  lived  in.  It 
was  one  of  the  advantages  of  the  old  simple  way 
of  living,  that  the  young  daughters  of  the  house 
were,  as  a  matter  of  course,  instructed  in  all  these 
things.  They  acquired  the  habit  of  being  ready 
for  emergencies,  and  the  family  that  required  no 
outside  assistance  was  delightfully  independent. 

A  young  woman  would  have  been  considered 
a  very  inefficient  being  who  could  not  make  and 
mend  and  wash  and  iron  her  own  clothing,  and 
get  three  regular  meals  and  clear  them  away 
every  day,  besides  keeping  the  house  tidy,  and 
doing  any  other  needed  neighborly  service,  such 
as  sitting  all  night  by  a  sick-bed.  To  be  "  a  good 
watcher  "  was  considered  one  of  the  most  impor 
tant  of  womanly  attainments.  People  who  lived 
side  by  side  exchanged  such  services  without  wait 
ing  to  be  asked,  and  they  seemed  to  be  happiest 
of  whom  such  kindnesses  were  most  expected. 

Every  kind  of  work  brings  its  own  compensa 
tions  and  attractions.  I  really  began  to  like  plain 
sewing ;  I  enjoyed  sitting  down  for  a  whole  af 
ternoon  of  it,  fingers  flying  and  thoughts  flying 
faster  still,  —  the  motion  of  the  hands  seeming  to 
set  the  mind  astir.  Such  afternoons  used  to  bring 
me  throngs  of  poetic  suggestions,  particularly  if  I 
sat  by  an  open  window  and  could  hear  the  wind 
blowing  and  a  bird  or  two  singing.  Nature  is 
often  very  generous  in  opening  her  heart  to  those 


192  A  NEW  ENGLAND   GIRLHOOD. 

who  must  keep  their  hands  employed.  Perhaps 
it  is  because  she  is  always  quietly  at  work  herself, 
and  so  sympathizes  with  her  busy  human  friends. 
And  possibly  there  is  no  needful  occupation 
which  is  wholly  unbeautif  ul.  The  beauty  of  work 
depends  upon  the  way  we  meet  it  —  whether  we 
arm  ourselves  each  morning  to  attack  it  as  an  en 
emy  that  must  be  vanquished  before  night  comes, 
or  whether  we  open  our  eyes  with  the  sunrise  to 
welcome  it  as  an  approaching  friend  who  will  keep 
us  delightful  company  all  day,  and  who  will  make 
us  feel,  at  evening,  that  the  day  was  well  worth 
its  fatigues. 

I  found  my  practical  experience  of  housekeep 
ing  and  baby-tending  very  useful  to  me  after 
wards  at  the  West,  in  my  sister  Emilie's  family, 
when  she  was  disabled  by  illness.  I  think,  indeed, 
that  every  item  of  real  knowledge  I  ever  acquired 
has  come  into  use  somewhere  or  somehow  in  the 
course  of  the  years.  But  these  were  not  the  things 
I  had  most  wished  to  do.  The  whole  world  of 
thought  lay  unexplored  before  me,  —  a  world  of 
which  I  had  already  caught  large  and  tempting 
glimpses,  and  I  did  not  like  to  feel  the  horizon 
shutting  me  in,  even  to  so  pleasant  a  corner  as 
this.  And  the  worst  of  it  was  that  I  was  get 
ting  too  easy  and  contented,  too  indifferent  to  the 
higher  realities  which  my  work  and  my  thoughtful 
companions  had  kept  keenly  clear  before  me.  I 
felt  myself  slipping  into  an  inward  apathy  from 


MOUNTAIN-FRIENDS.  193 

which  it  was  hard  to  rouse  myself.  I  could  not 
let  it  go  on  so.  I  must  be  where  my  life  could 
expand. 

It  was  hard  to  leave  the  dear  little  fellow  I  had 
taught  to  walk  and  to  talk,  but  I  knew  he  would 
not  be  inconsolable.  So  I  only  said  "  I  must  go," 
—  and  turned  my  back  upon  the  sea,  and  my  face 
to  the  banks  of  the  Merrimack. 

When  I  returned  I  found  that  I  enjoyed  even 
the  familiar,  unremitting  clatter  of  the  mill,  be 
cause  it  indicated  that  something  was  going  on.  I 
liked  to  feel  the  people  around  me,  even  those 
whom  I  did  not  know,  as  a  wave  may  like  to  feel 
the  surrounding  waves  urging  it  forward,  with  or 
against  its  own  will.  I  felt  that  I  belonged  to  the 
world,  that  there  was  something  for  me  to  do  in 
it,  though  I  had  not  yet  found  out  what.  Some 
thing  to  do ;  it  might  be  very  little,  but  still  it 
would  be  my  own  work.  And  then  there  was  the 
better  something  which  I  had  almost  forgotten,  — 
to  be!  Underneath  my  dull  thoughts  the  old 
aspirations  were  smouldering,  the  old  ideals  rose 
and  beckoned  to  me  through  the  rekindling  light. 

It  was  always  aspiration  rather  than  ambition 
by  which  I  felt  myself  stirred.  I  did  not  care  to 
outstrip  others,  and  become  what  is  called  "  dis 
tinguished,"  were  that  a  possibility,  so  much  as 
I  longed  to  answer  the  Voice  that  invited,  ever  re 
ceding,  up  to  invisible  heights,  however  unattain 
able  they  might  seem.  I  was  conscious  of  a  desire 


194  A  NEW  ENGLAND   GIRLHOOD. 

that  others  should  feel  something  coming  to  them 
out  of  my  life  like  the  breath  of  flowers,  the  whis 
per  of  the  winds,  the  warmth  of  the  sunshine, 
and  the  depth  of  the  sky.  That,  I  felt,  did  not 
require  great  gifts  or  a  fine  education.  We  might 
all  be  that  to  each  other.  And  there  was  no  op 
portunity  for  vanity  or  pride  in  receiving  a  beau 
tiful  influence,  and  giving  it  out  again. 

I  do  not  suppose  that  I  definitely  thought  all 
this,  though  I  find  that  the  verses  I  wrote  for  our 
two  mill  magazines  at  about  this  time  often  ex 
pressed  these  and  similar  longings.  They  were 
vague,  and  they  were  too  likely  to  dissipate  them 
selves  in  mere  dreams.  But  our  aspirations  come 
to  us  from  a  source  far  beyond  ourselves.  Happy 
are  they  who  are  "  not  disobedient  unto  the  heav 
enly  vision  " ! 

A  girl  of  sixteen  sees  the  world  before  her 
through  rose-tinted  mists,  a  blending  of  celestial 
colors  and  earthly  exhalations,  and  she  cannot 
separate  their  elements,  if  she  would ;  they  all 
belong  to  the  landscape  of  her  youth.  It  is  the 
mystery  of  the  meeting  horizons,  —  the  visible 
beauty  seeking  to  lose  and  find  itself  in  the  In 
visible. 

In  returning  to  my  daily  toil  among  workmates 
from  the  hill-country,  the  scenery  to  which  they 
belonged  became  also  a  part  of  my  life.  They 
brought  the  mountains  with  them,  a  new  back 
ground  and  a  new  hope.  We  shared  an  uneven 


MOUNTAIN- FRIENDS.  195 

path  and  homely  occupations ;  but  above  us  hung 
glorious  summits  never  wholly  out  of  sight. 
Every  blossom  and  every  dewdrop  at  our  feet 
was  touched  with  some  tint  of  that  far-off  splen 
dor,  and  every  pebble  by  the  wayside  was  a  mes 
senger  from  the  peak  that  our  feet  would  stand 
upon  by  and  by. 

The  true  climber  knows  the  delight  f  trusting 
his  path,  of  following  it  without  seemg  a  step 
before  him,  or  a  glimpse  of  blue  sky  above  him, 
sometimes  only  knowing  that  it  is  the  right  path 
because  it  is  the  only  one,  and  because  it  leads 
upward.  This  our  daily  duty  was  to  us.  Though 
we  did  not  always  know  it,  the  faithful  plodder 
was  sure  to  win  the  heights.  Unconsciously  we 
learned  the  lesson  that  only  by  humble  Doing 
can  any  of  us  win  the  lofty  possibilities  of  Being. 
For  indeed,  what  we  all  want  to  find  is  not  so 
much  our  place  as  our  path.  The  path  leads  to 
the  place,  and  the  place,  when  we  have  found  it, 
is  only  a  clearing  by  the  roadside,  an  opening 
into  another  path. 

And  no  comrades  are  so  dear  as  those  who  have 
broken  with  us  a  pioneer  road  which  it  will  be 
safe  and  good  for  others  to  follow;  which  will 
furnish  a  plain  clue  for  all  bewildered  travelers 
hereafter.  There  is  no  more  exhilarating  human 
experience  than  this,  and  perhaps  it  is  the  highest 
angelic  one.  It  may  be  that  some  such  mutual 
work  is  to  link  us  forever  with  one  another  in  the 
Infinite  Life. 


196  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

The  girls  who  toiled  together  at  Lowell  were 
clearing  away  a  few  weeds  from  the  overgrown 
track  of  independent  labor  for  other  women. 
They  practically  said,  by  numbering  themselves 
among  factory  girls,  that  in  our  country  no  real 
odium  could  be  attached  to  any  honest  toil  that 
any  self-respecting  woman  might  undertake. 

I  regard  it  as  one  of  the  privileges  of  my  youth 
that  I  was  permitted  to  *grow  up  among  those  ac 
tive,  interesting  girls,  whose  lives  were  not  mere 
echoes  of  other  lives,  but  had  principle  and  pur 
pose  distinctly  their  own.  Their  vigor  of  charac 
ter  was  a  natural  development.  The  New  Hamp 
shire  girls  who  came  to  Lowell  were  descendants 
of  the  sturdy  backwoodsmen  who  settled  that 
State  scarcely  a  hundred  years  before.  Their 
grandmothers  had  suffered  the  hardships  of  fron 
tier  life,  had  known  the  horrors  of  savage  warfare 
when  the  beautiful  valleys  of  the  Connecticut  and 
the  Merrimack  were  threaded  with  Indian  trails 
from  Canada  to  the  white  settlements.  Those 
young  women  did  justice  to  their  inheritance. 
They  were  earnest  and  capable ;  ready  to  under 
take  anything  that  was  worth  doing.  My  dreamy, 
indolent  nature  was  shamed  into  activity  among 
them.  They  gave  me  a  larger,  firmer  ideal  of 
womanhood. 

Often  during  the  many  summers  and  autumns 
that  of  late  years  I  have  spent  among  the  New 
Hampshire  hills,  sometimes  far  up  the  mountain 


MOUNTAIN-FRIENDS.  197 

sides,  where  I  could  listen  to  the  first  song  of  the 
little  brooks  setting  out  on  their  journey  to  join 
the  very  river  that  flowed  at  my  feet  when  I  was 
a  working-girl  on  its  banks,  —  the  Merrimack,  — 
I  have  felt  as  if  I  could  also  hear  the  early  mu 
sic  of  my  workmates'  lives,  those  who  were  born 
among  these  glorious  summits.  Pure,  strong,  crys 
talline  natures,  carrying  down  with  them  the  light 
of  blue  skies  and  the  freshness  of  free  winds  to 
their  place  of  toil,  broadening  and  strengthen 
ing  as  they  went  on,  who  can  tell  how  they  have 
refreshed  the  world,  how  beautifully  they  have 
blended  their  being  with  the  great  ocean  of  re 
sults  ?  A  brook's  life  is  like  the  life  of  a  maiden. 
The  rivers  receive  their  strength  from  the  rock- 
born  rills,  from  the  unfailing  purity  of  the  moun 
tain-streams. 

A  girl's  place  in  the  world  is  a  very  strong  one : 
it  is  a  pity  that  she  does  not  always  see  it  so.  It 
is  strongest  through  her  natural  impulse  to  steady 
herself  by  leaning  upon  the  Eternal  Life,  the  only 
Reality ;  and  her  weakness  comes  also  from  her 
inclination  to  lean  against  something,  —  upon  an 
unworthy  support,  rather  than  none  at  all.  She 
often  lets  her  life  get  broken  into  fragments 
among  the  flimsy  trellises  of  fashion  and  conven 
tionality,  when  it  might  be  a  perfect  thing  in  the 
upright  beauty  of  its  own  consecrated  freedom. 

Yet  girlhood  seldom  appreciates  itself.  We 
often  hear  a  girl  wishing  that  she  were  a  boy. 


198  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

That  seems  so  strange !  God  made  no  mistake  in 
her  creation.  He  sent  her  into  the  world  full  of 
power  and  will  to  be  a  helper;  and  only  He 
knows  how  much  his  world  needs  help.  She  is 
here  to  make  this  great  house  of  humanity  a  hab 
itable  and  a  beautiful  place,  without  and  within, 
—  a  true  home  for  every  one  of  his  children.  It 
matters  not  if  she  is  poor,  if  she  has  to  toil  for 
her  daily  bread,  or  even  if  she  is  surrounded  by 
coarseness  and  uncongeniality :  nothing  can  de 
prive  her  of  her  natural  instinct  to  help,  of  her 
birthright  as  a  helper.  These  very  hindrances 
may,  with  faith  and  patience,  develop  in  her  a 
nobler  womanhood. 

No  ;  let  girls  be  as  thankful  that  they  are  girls 
as  that  they  are  human  beings ;  for  they  also, 
according  to  his  own  loving  plan  for  them,  were 
created  in  the  image  of  God.  Their  real  power, 
the  divine  dowry  of  womanhood,  is  that  of  receiv 
ing  and  giving  inspiration.  In  this  a  girl  often 
surpasses  her  brother ;  and  it  is  for  her  to  hold 
firmly  and  faithfully  to  her  holiest  instincts,  so 
that  when  he  lets  his  standard  droop,  she  may, 
through  her  spiritual  strength,  be  a  standard- 
bearer  for  him.  Courage  and  self-reliance  are 
now  held  to  be  virtues  as  womanly  as  they  are 
manly ;  for  the  world  has  grown  wise  enough  to 
see  that  nothing  except  a  life  can  really  help  an 
other  life.  It  is  strange  that  it  should  ever  have 
held  any  other  theory  about  woman. 


MOUNTAIN-FRIENDS.  199 

That  was  a  true  use  of  the  word  "  help "  that 
grew  up  so  naturally  in  the  rendering  and  receiv 
ing  of  womanly  service  in  the  old-fashioned  New 
England  household.  A  girl  came  into  a  family  as 
one  of  the  home-group,  to  share  its  burdens,  to 
feel  that  they  were  her  own.  The  woman  who  em 
ployed  her,  if  her  nature  was  at  all  generous,  could 
not  feel  that  money  alone  was  an  equivalent  for  a 
heart's  service  ;  she  added  to  it  her  friendship,  her 
gratitude  and  esteem.  The  domestic  problem  can 
never  be  rightly  settled  until  the  old  idea  of  mut 
ual  help  is  in  some  way  restored.  This  is  a  ques 
tion  for  girls  of  the  present  generation  to  consider, 
and  she  who  can  bring  about  a  practical  solution 
of  it  will  win  the  world's  gratitude. 

We  used  sometimes  to  see  it  claimed,  in  public 
prints,  that  it  would  be  better  for  all  of  us  mill- 
girls  to  be  working  in  families,  at  domestic  service, 
than  to  be  where  we  were. 

Perhaps  the  difficulties  of  modern  housekeepers 
did  begin  with  the  opening  of  the  Lowell  factories. 
Country  girls  were  naturally  independent,  and 
the  feeling  that  at  this  new  work  the  few  hours 
they  had  of  every-day  leisure  were  entirely  their 
own  was  a  satisfaction  to  them.  They  preferred 
it  to  going  out  as  "  hired  help."  It  was  like  a 
young  man's  pleasure  in  entering  upon  business 
for  himself.  Girls  had  never  tried  that  experi 
ment  before,  and  they  liked  it.  It  brought  out  in 
them  a  dormant  strength  of  character  which  the 


200  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

world  did  not  previously  see,  but  now  fully  ao 
knowledges.  Of  course  they  had  a  right  to  con 
tinue  at  that  freer  kind  of  work  as  long  as  they 
chose,  although  their  doing  so  increased  the  per 
plexities  of  the  housekeeping  problem  for  them 
selves  even,  since  many  of  them  were  to  become, 
and  did  become,  American  house-mistresses. 

It  would  be  a  step  towards  the  settlement  of 
this  vexed  and  vexing  question  if  girls  would  de 
cline  to  classify  each  other  by  their  occupations, 
which  among  us  are  usually  only  temporary,  and 
are  continually  shifting  from  one  pair  of  hands  to 
another.  Changes  of  fortune  come  so  abruptly 
that  the  millionaire's  daughter  of  to-day  may  be 
glad  to  earn  her  living  by  sewing  or  sweeping  to 
morrow. 

It  is  the  first  duty  of  every  woman  to  recog 
nize  the  mutual  bond  of  universal  womanhood. 
Let  her  ask  herself  whether  she  would  like  to 
hear  herself  or  her  sister  spoken  of  as  a  shop 
girl,  or  a  factory-girl,  or  a  servant-girl,  if  neces 
sity  had  compelled  her  for  a  time  to  be  employed 
in  either  of  the  ways  indicated.  If  she  would 
shrink  from  it  a  little,  then  she  is  a  little  inhu 
man  when  she  puts  her  unknown  human  sisters 
who  are  so  occupied  into  a  class  by  themselves, 
feeling  herself  to  be  somewhat  their  superior. 
She  is  really  the  superior  person  who  has  accepted 
her  work  and  is  doing  it  faithfully,  whatever  it  is. 
This  designating  others  by  their  casual  employ- 


MOUNTAIN-FRIENDS.  201 

ments  prevents  one  from  making  real  distinctions, 
from  knowing  persons  as  persons.  A  false  stand 
ard  is  set  up  in  the  minds  of  those  who  classify 
and  of  those  who  are  classified. 

Perhaps  it  is  chiefly  the  fault  of  ladies  them 
selves  that  the  word  "  lady  "  has  nearly  lost  its 
original  meaning  (a  noble  one)  indicating  sympa 
thy  and  service  ;  — bread-giver  to  those  who  are  in 
need.  The  idea  that  it  means  something  external 
in  dress  or  circumstances  has  been  too  generally 
adopted  by  rich  and  poor  ;  and  this,  coupled  with 
the  sweeping  notion  that  in  our  country  one  per 
son  is  just  as  good  as  another,  has  led  to  ridic 
ulous  results,  like  that  of  saleswomen  calling 
themselves  "salesladies."  I  have  even  heard  a 
chambermaid  at  a  hotel  introduce  herself  to  guests 
as  "  the  chamberlady." 

I  do  not  believe  that  any  Lowell  mill-girl  was 
ever  absurd  enough  to  wish  to  be  known  as  a 
"  factory-lady,"  although  most  of  them  knew  that 
"  factory-girl "  did  not  represent  a  high  type  of 
womanhood  in  the  Old  World.  But  they  them 
selves  belonged  to  the  New  World,  not  to  the 
Old ;  and  they  were  making  their  own  traditions, 
to  hand  down  to  their  Republican  descendants,  — 
one  of  which  was  and  is  that  honest  work  has  no 
need  to  assert  itself  or  to  humble  itself  in  a  na 
tion  like  ours,  but  simply  to  take  its  place  as  one 
of  the  foundation-stones  of  the  Republic. 

The  young  women  who  worked  at  Lowell  had 


202  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

the  advantage  of  living  in  a  community  where 
character  alone  commanded  respect.  They  never, 
at  their  work  or  away  from  it,  heard  themselves 
contemptuously  spoken  of  on  account  of  their  oc 
cupation,  except  by  the  ignorant  or  weak-minded, 
whose  comments  they  were  of  course  too  sensible 
to  heed. 

We  may  as  well  acknowledge  that  one  of  the 
unworthy  tendencies  of  womankind  is  towards 
petty  estimates  of  other  women.  This  classifying 
habit  illustrates  the  fact.  If  we  must  classify  our 
sisters,  let  us  broaden  ourselves  by  making  large 
classifications.  We  might  all  place  ourselves  in 
one  of  two  ranks  —  the  women  who  do  something, 
and  the  women  who  do  nothing ;  the  first  being  of 
course  the  only  creditable  place  to  occupy.  And 
if  we  would  escape  from  our  pettinesses,  as  we  all 
may  and  should,  the  way  to  do  it  is  to  find  the 
key  to  other  lives,  and  live  in  their  largeness,  by 
sharing  their  outlook  upon  life.  Even  poorer 
people's  windows  will  give  us  a  new  horizon,  and 
often  a  far  broader  one  than  our  own. 


MILL-GIRLS'  MAGAZINES. 

THERE  was  a  passage  from  Cowper  that  my 
sister  used  to  quote  to  us,  because,  she  said,  she 
often  repeated  it  to  herself,  and  found  that  it  did 
her  good :  — 

"  In  such  a  world,  so  thorny,  and  where  none 
Finds  happiness  unblighted,  or  if  found, 
Without  some  thistly  sorrow  at  its  side, 
It  seems  the  part  of  wisdom,  and  no  sin 
Against  the  law  of  love,  to  measure  lots 
With  less  distinguished  than  ourselves,  that  thus 
We  may  with  patience  bear  our  moderate  ills, 
And  sympathize  with  others,  suffering  more." 

I  think  she  made  us  feel  —  she  certainly  made 
me  feel  —  that  our  lot  was  in  many  ways  an  un 
usually  fortunate  one,  and  full  of  responsibilities. 
She  herself  was  always  thinking  what  she  could 
do  for  others,  not  only  immediately  about  her,  but 
in  the  farthest  corners  of  the  earth.  She  had  her 
Sabbath-school  class,  and  visited  all  the  children 
in  it ;  she  sat  up  all  night,  very  often,  watching 
by  a  sick  girl's  bed,  in  the  hospital  or  in  some  dis 
tant  boarding-house ;  she  gave  money  to  send  to 
missionaries,  or  to  help  build  new  churches  in  the 
city,  when  she  was  earning  only  eight  or  ten  dol- 


J 


204  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

lars  a  month  clear  of  her  board,  and  could  afford 
herself  but  one  "  best  dress,"  besides  her  working 
clothes.  That  best  dress  was  often  nothing  but  a 
Merrimack  print.  But  she  insisted  that  it  was  a 
great  saving  of  trouble  to  have  just  this  one,  be 
cause  she  was  not  obliged  to  think  what  she  should 
wear  if  she  were  invited  out  to  spend  an  evening. 
And  she  kept  track  of  all  the  great  philanthropic 
movements  of  the  day.  She  felt  deeply  the  shame 
and  wrong  of  American  slavery,  and  tried  to 
make  her  workmates  see  and  feel  it  too.  (Peti 
tions  to  Congress  for  the  abolition  of  slavery  in 
the  District  of  Columbia  were  circulated  nearly 
every  year  among  the  mill-girls,  and  received 
thousands  of  signatures.) 

Whenever  she  was  not  occupied  with  her  work 
or  her  reading,  or  with  looking  after  us  younger 
ones,  —  two  or  three  hours  a  day  was  all  the  time 
she  could  call  her  own,  —  she  was  sure  to  be  away 
on  some  errand  of  friendliness  or  mercy. 

Those  who  do  most  for  others  are  always  those 
who  are  called  upon  continually  to  do  a  little 
more,  and  who  find  a  way  to  do  it.  People  go 
to  them  as  to  a  bank  that  never  fails.  And 
surely,  they  who  have  an  abundance  of  life  in 
themselves  and  who  give  their  life  out  freely  to 
others  are  the  only  really  rich. 

Two  dollars  a  week  sounds  very  small,  but  in 
Emilie's  hands  it  went  farther  than  many  a 
princely  fortune  of  to-day,  because  she  managed 


MILL-GIRLS'  MAGAZINES.  205 

with  it  to  make  so  many  people  happy.  But  then 
she  wanted  absolutely  nothing  for  herself ;  noth 
ing  but  the  privilege  of  helping  others. 

I  seem  to  be  eulogizing  my  sister,  though  I  am 
simply  relating  matters  of  fact.  I  could  not, 
however,  illustrate  my  own  early  experience,  ex 
cept  by  the  lives  around  me  which  most  influ 
enced  mine.  And  it  was  true  that  our  smaller 
and  more  self-centred  natures  in  touching  hers 
caught  something  of  her  spirit,  the  contagion  of 
her  warm  heart  and  healthy  energy.  For  health 
is  more  contagious  than  disease,  and  lives  that 
exhale  sweetness  around  them  from  the  inner 
heaven  of  their  souls  keep  the  world  wholesome. 

I  tried  to  follow  her  in  my  faltering  way,  and 
was  gratified  when  she  would  send  me  to  look  up 
one  of  her  stray  children,  or  would  let  me  watch 
•with  her  at  night  by  a  sick-bed.  I  think  it  was 
partly  for  the  sake  of  keeping  as  close  to  her  as  I 
could  —  though  not  without  a  sincere  desire  to 
consecrate  myself  to  the  Best  —  that  I  became, 
at  about  thirteen,  a  member  of  the  church  which 
we  attended. 

Our  minister  was  a  scholarly  man,  of  refined 
tastes  and  a  sensitive  organization,  fervently  spir 
itual,  and  earnestly  devoted  to  his  work.  It  was 
an  education  to  grow  up  under  his  influence.  I 
shall  never  forget  the  effect  left  by  the  tones  of 
his  voice  when  he  first  spoke  to  me,  a  child  of 
ten  years,  at  a  neighborhood  prayer-meeting  in 


206  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

my  mother's  sitting-room.  He  had  been  inviting 
his  listeners  to  the  friendship  of  Christ,  and  turn* 
ing  to  my  little  sister  and  me,  he  said,  — 

"And  these  little  children,  too;  won't  they 
come  ?  " 

The  words,  and  his  manner  of  saying  them, 
brought  the  tears  to  my  eyes.  Once  only  before, 
far  back  in  my  earlier  childhood  —  I  have  already 
mentioned  the  incident  —  had  I  heard  that  Name 
spoken  so  tenderly  and  familiarly,  yet  so  rever 
ently.  It  was  as  if  he  had  been  gazing  into  the 
face  of  an  invisible  Friend,  and  had  just  turned 
from  Him  to  look  into  ours,  while  he  gave  us  his 
message,  that  He  loved  us. 

In  that  moment  I  again  caught  a  glimpse  of 
One  whom  I  had  always  known,  but  had  often 
forgotten,  —  One  who  claimed  me  as  his  Father's 
child,  and  would  never  let  me  go.  It  was  a  real 
Face  that  I  saw,  a  real  Voice  that  I  heard,  a  real 
Person  who  was  calling  me.  I  could  not  mistake 
the  Presence  that  had  so  often  drawn  near  me 
and  shone  with  sunlike  eyes  into  my  soul.  The 
words,  "  Lord,  lift  Thou  up  the  light  of  thy  coun 
tenance  upon  us !  "  had  always  given  me  the  feel 
ing  that  a  beautiful  sunrise  does.  It  is  indeed 
a  sunrise  text,  for  is  not  He  the  Light  of  the 
World? 

And  peaceful  sunshine  seemed  pouring  in  at 
the  windows  of  my  life  on  the  day  when  I  stood 
in  the  aisle  before  the  pulpit  with  a  group,  who, 


MILL-GIRLS1  MAGAZINES.  207 

though  young,  were  all  much  older  than  myself, 
and  took  with  them  the  vows  that  bound  us  to 
his  service.  Of  what  was  then  said  and  read  I 
scarcely  remember  more  than  the  words  of  heav 
enly  welcome  in  the  Epistle,  "  Now  therefore  ye 
are  no  more  strangers  and  foreigners."  It  was 
like  coming  home,  like  stepping  a  little  farther 
beyond  the  threshold  in  at  the  open  door  of  our 
Father's  house. 

Perhaps  I  was  too  young  to  assume  those  vows. 
Had  I  deferred  it  a  few  years  there  would  have 
been  serious  intellectual  hindrances.  But  it  was 
not  the  Articles  of  Faith  I  was  thinking  of,  al 
though  there  was  a  long  list  of  them,  to  which  we 
all  bowed  assent,  as  was  the  custom.  It  was 
the  home-coming  to  the  "house  not  made  with 
hands,"  the  gladness  of  signifying  that  I  belonged 
to  God's  spiritual  family,  and  was  being  drawn 
closer  to  his  heart,  with  whom  none  of  us  are 
held  as  "  strangers  and  foreigners." 

I  felt  that  I  was  taking  up  again  the  clue  which 
had  been  put  into  my  childish  hand  at  baptism, 
and  was  being  led  on  by  it  into  the  unfolding 
mysteries  of  life.  Should  I  ever  let  it  slip  from 
me,  and  lose  the  way  to  the  "  many  mansions  " 
that  now  seemed  so  open  and  so  near  ?  I  could 
not  think  so.  It  is  well  that  we  cannot  foresee 
our  falterings  and  failures.  At  least  I  could  never 
forget  that  I  had  once  felt  my  own  and  other  lives 
bound  together  with  the  Eternal  Life  by  an  invis 
ible  thread. 


208  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

The  vague,  fitful  desire  I  had  felt  from  my 
childhood  to  be  something  to  the  world  I  lived 
in,  to  give  it  something  of  the  inexpressible  sweet 
ness  that  often  seemed  pouring  through  me,  I 
knew  not  whence,  now  began  to  shape  itself  into 
a  definite  outreach  towards  the  Source  of  all  spir 
itual  life.  To  draw  near  to  the  One  All-Beauti 
ful  Being,  Christ,  to  know  Him  as  our  spirits  may 
know  The  Spirit,  to  receive  the  breath  of  his  in 
finitely  loving  Life  into  mine,  that  I  might  breathe 
out  that  fragrance  again  into  the  lives  around  me, 

—  this  was  the  longing  wish  that,  half   hidden 
from  myself,  lay  deep  beneath  all  other  desires 
of   my   soul.     This   was   what   religion   grew  to 
mean  to  me,  what  it  is  still  growing  to  mean,  more 
simply  and  more  clearly  as  the  years  go  on. 

The  heart  must  be  very  humble  to  which  this 
heavenly  approach  is  permitted.  It  knows  that 
it  has  nothing  in  itself,  nothing  for  others,  which 
it  has  not  received.  The  loving  Voice  of  Him 
who  gives  his  friends  his  errands  to  do  whis 
pers  through  them  constantly,  "  Ye  are  not  your 
own." 

There  may  be  those  who  would  think  my  nar 
rative  more  entertaining,  if  I  omitted  these  inner 
experiences,  and  related  only  lighter  incidents. 
But  one  thing  I  was  aware  of,  from  the  time  I 
began  to  think  and  to  wonder  about  my  own  life, 

—  that  what  I  felt  and  thought  was  far  more  real 
to  me  than  the  things  that  happened. 


MILL-GIRLS'  MAGAZINES.  209 

Circumstances  are  only  the  keys  that  unlock 
for  us  the  secret  of  ourselves ;  and  I  learned  very 
early  that  though  there  is  much  to  enjoy  in  this 
beautiful  outside  world,  there  is  much  more  to 
love,  to  believe  in,  and  to  seek,  in  the  invisible 
world  out  of  which  it  all  grows.  What  has  best 
revealed  our  true  selves  to  ourselves  must  be 
most  helpful  to  others,  and  one  can  willingly 
sacrifice  some  natural  reserves  to  such  an  end. 
Besides,  if  we  tell  our  own  story  at  all,  we  nat 
urally  wish  to  tell  the  truest  part  of  it. 

Work,  study,  and  worship  were  interblended  in 
our  life.  The  church  was  really  the  home-centre 
to  many,  perhaps  to  most  of  us ;  and  it  was  one 
of  the  mill  regulations  that  everybody  should  go 
to  church  somewhere.  There  must  have  been  an 
earnest  group  of  ministers  at  Lowell,  since  nearly 
all  the  girls  attended  public  worship  from  choice. 

Our  minister  joined  us  in  our  social  gather 
ings,  often  inviting  us  to  his  own  house,  visiting 
us  at  our  work,  accompanying  us  on  our  picnics 
down  the  river-bank,  —  a  walk  of  a  mile  or  so  took 
us  into  charmingly  picturesque  scenery,  and  we 
always  walked,  —  suggesting  books  for  our  read 
ing,  and  assisting  us  in  our  studies. 

The  two  magazines  published  by  the  mill-girls, 
the  "Lowell  Offering  "  and  the  "Operatives' 
Magazine,"  originated  with  literary  meetings  in 
the  vestry  of  two  religious  societies,  the  first  in 
the  Universalist  Church,  the  second  in  the  First 


210  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

Congregational,  to  which  my  sister  and  I  be 
longed. 

On  account  of  our  belonging  there,  our  con 
tributions  were  given  to  the  "Operatives'  Maga 
zine,"  the  first  periodical  for  which  I  ever  wrote, 
issued  by  the  literary  society  of  which  our  min 
ister  took  charge.  He  met  us  on  regular  even 
ings,  read  aloud  our  poems  and  sketches,  and 
made  such  critical  suggestions  as  he  thought  de 
sirable.  This  magazine  was  edited  by  two  young 
women,  both  of  whom  had  been  employed  in  the 
mills,  although  at  that  time  they  were  teachers  in 
the  public  schools  —  a  change  which  was  often 
made  by  mill-girls  after  a  few  months'  residence 
at  Lowell.  A  great  many  of  them  were  district- 
school  teachers  at  their  homes  in  the  summer, 
spending  only  the  winters  at  their  work. 

The  two  magazines  went  on  side  by  side  for  a 
year  or  two,  and  then  were  united  in  the  "  Lowell 
Offering,"  which  had  made  the  first  experiment 
of  the  kind  by  publishing  a  trial  number  or  two 
at  irregular  intervals.  My  sister  had  sent  some 
verses  of  mine,  on  request,  to  be  published  in  one 
of  those  specimen  numbers.  But  we  were  not 
acquainted  with  the  editor  of  the  "Offering," 
and  we  knew  only  a  few  of  its  contributors.  The 
Universalist  Church,  in  the  vestry  of  which  they 
met,  was  in  a  distant  part  of  the  city.  Socially, 
the  place  where  we  worshiped  was  the  place  where 
we  naturally  came  together  in  other  ways.  The 


MILL-GIRLS'  MAGAZINES.  211 

churches  were  all  filled  to  overflowing,  so  that  the 
grouping  together  of  the  girls  by  their  denomi 
national  preferences  was  almost  unavoidable.  It 
was  in  some  such  way  as  this  that  two  magazines 
were  started  instead  of  one.  If  the  girls  who  en- 
joyed  writing  had  not  been  so  many  and  so  scat 
tered,  they  might  have  made  the  better  arrange 
ment  of  joining  their  forces  from  the  beginning. 

I  was  too  young  a  contributor  to  be  at  first  of 
much  value  to  either  periodical.  They  began 
their  regular  issues,  I  think,  while  I  was  the 
nursemaid  of  my  little  nephews  at  Beverly.  When 
I  returned  to  Lowell,  at  about  sixteen,  I  found 
my  sister  Emilie  interested  in  the  "  Operatives' 
Magazine,"  and  we  both  contributed  to  it  regu 
larly,  until  it  was  merged  in  the  "  Lowell  Offer- 
ing,"  to  which  we  then  transferred  our  writing- 
efforts.  It  did  not  occur  to  us  to  call  these  efforts 
"  literary."  I  know  that  I  wrote  just  as  I  did  for 
our  little  "  Diving  Bell,"  —  as  a  sort  of  pastime, 
and  because  my  daily  toil  was  mechanical,  and  fur 
nished  no  occupation  for  my  thoughts.  Perhaps 
the  fact  that  most  of  us  wrote  in  this  way  ac 
counted  for  the  rather  sketchy  and  fragmentary 
character  of  our  "  Magazine."  It  gave  evidence 
that  we  thought,  and  that  we  thought  upon  solid 
and  serious  matters ;  but  the  criticism  of  one  of 
our  superintendents  upon  it,  very  kindly  given, 
was  undoubtedly  just :  "  It  has  plenty  of  pith, 
but  it  lacks  point." 


212          A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

The  "  Offering "  had  always  more  of  the  lit 
erary  spirit  and  touch.  It  was,  indeed,  for  the 
first  two  years,  edited  by  a  gentleman  of  acknowl 
edged  literary  ability.  But  people  seemed  to  be 
more  interested  in  it  after  it  passed  entirely  into 
the  hands  of  the  girls  themselves. 

The  "  Operatives'  Magazine  "  had  a  decidedly 
religious  tone.  We  who  wrote  for  it  were  loyal 
to  our  Puritanic  antecedents,  and  considered  it 
all-important  that  our  lightest  actions  should  be 
moved  by  some  earnest  impulse  from  behind.  We 
might  write  playfully,  but  there  must  be  con 
science  and  reverence  somewhere  within  it  all. 
We  had  been  taught,  and  we  believed,  that  idle 
words  were  a  sin,  whether  spoken  or  written. 
This,  no  doubt,  gave  us  a  gravity  of  expression 
rather  unnatural  to  youth. 

In  looking  over  the  bound  volume  of  this  mag 
azine,  I  am  amused  at  the  grown  -  up  style  of 
thought  assumed  by  myself,  probably  its  very 
youngest  contributor.  I  wrote  a  dissertation  on 
"  Fame,"  quoting  from  Pollok,  Cowper,  and  Mil 
ton,  and  ending  with  Diedrich  Knickerbocker's 
definition  of  immortal  fame,  —  "  Half  a  page  of 
dirty  paper."  For  other  titles  I  had  "  Thoughts 
on  Beauty ; "  "  Gentility  ;  "  "  Sympathy,"  etc. 
And  in  one  longish  poem,  entitled  "  My  Child 
hood  "  (written  when  I  was  about  fifteen),  I  find 
verses  like  these,  which  would  seem  to  have  come 
out  of  a  mature  experience :  — 


MILL-GIRLS'  MAGAZINES.  213 

My  childhood !   O  those  pleasant  days,,  when  everything  seemed 

free, 

And  in  the  broad  and  verdant  fields  I  frolicked  merrily ; 
When  joy  came  to  my  bounding1  heart  with  every  wild  bird's 

song, 
And  Nature's  music  in  my  ears  was  ringing  all  day  long ! 

And  yet  I  would  not  call  them  back,   those  blessed  times  of 

yore, 

For  riper  years  are  fraught  with  joys  I  dreamed  not  of  before. 
The  labyrinth  of  Science  opes  with  wonders  every  day  ; 
And  friendship  hath  full  many  a  flower  to  cheer  life's  dreary 

way. 

And  glancing  through  the  pages  of  the  "  Low 
ell  Offering "  a  year  or  two  later,  I  see  that  I 
continued  to  dismalize  myself  at  times,  quite  un 
necessarily.  The  title  of  one  string  of  morbid 
verses  is  "  The  Complaint  of  a  Nobody,"  in  which 
I  compare  myself  to  a  weed  growing  up  in  a  gar 
den  ;  and  the  conclusion  of  it  all  is  this  stanza :  — 

When  the  fierce  storms  are  raging,  I  will  not  repine, 
Though  I  'm  heedlessly  crushed  in  the  strife ; 

For  surely  'twere  better  oblivion  were  mine 
Than  a  worthless,  inglorious  life. 

Now  I  do  not  suppose  that  I  really  considered 
myself  a  weed,  though  I  did  sometimes  fancy  that 
a  different  kind  of  cultivation  would  tend  to  make 
me  a  more  useful  plant.  I  am  glad  to  remember 
that  these  discontented  fits  were  only  occasional, 
for  certainly  they  were  unreasonable.  I  was  not 
unhappy  ;  this  was  an  affectation  of  unhappiness ; 
and  half  conscious  that  it  was,  I  hid  it  behind  a 
different  signature  from  my  usual  one. 


214          A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

How  truly  Wordsworth  describes  this  phase  of 
undeveloped  feeling :  — 

"  In  youth  sad  fancies  we  affect, 
In  luxury  of  disrespect 
To  our  own  prodigal  excess 
Of  too  familiar  happiness." 

It  is  a  very  youthful  weakness  to  exaggerate 
passing  moods  into  deep  experiences,  and  if  we 
put  them  down  on  paper,  we  get  a  fine  oppor 
tunity  of  laughing  at  ourselves,  if  we  live  to  out 
grow  them,  as  most  of  us  do.  I  think  I  must  have 
had  a  frequent  fancy  that  I  was  not  long  for  this 
world.  Perhaps  I  thought  an  early  death  rather 
picturesque  ;  many  young  people  do.  There  is  a 
certain  kind  of  poetry  that  fosters  this  idea ;  that 
delights  in  imaginary  youthful  victims,  and  has, 
reciprocally,  its  youthful  devotees.  One  of  my 
blank  verse  poems  in  the  "  Offering  "  is  entitled 
"  The  Early  Doomed."  It  begins,  — 

And  must  I  die  ?     The  world  is  bright  to  me, 
And  everything  that  looks  upon  me,  smiles. 

Another  poem  is  headed  "  Memento  Mori ;  " 
and  another,  entitled  a  "  Song  in  June,"  which 
ought  to  be  cheerful,  goes  off  into  the  doleful 
request  to  somebody,  or  anybody,  to 

Weave  me  a  shroud  in  the  month  of  June ! 

I  was,  perhaps,  healthier  than  the  average  girl, 
and  had  no  predisposition  to  a  premature  decline  ; 
and  in  reviewing  these  absurdities  of  my  pen,  I 
feel  like  saying  to  any  young  girl  who  inclines  to 


MILL-GIRLS'  MAGAZINES.  215 

rhyme,  "Don't  sentimentalize!  Write  more  of 
what  you  see  than  of  what  you  feel,  and  let  your 
feelings  realize  themselves  to  others  in  the  shape  of 
worthy  actions.  Then  they  will  be  natural,  and 
will  furnish  you  with  something  worth  writing." 

It  is  fair  to  myself  to  explain,  however,  that 
many  of  these  verses  of  mine  were  written  chiefly 
as  exercises  in  rhythmic  expression.  I  remember 
this  distinctly  about  one  of  my  poems  with  a  ter 
rible  title,  —  "  The  Murderer's  Request,"  —  in 
which  I  made  an  imaginary  criminal  pose  for  me, 
telling  where  he  would  not  and  where  he  would 
like  to  be  buried.  I  modeled  my  verses,  — 

Bury  ye  me  on  some  storm-rifted  mountain, 
O'erhanging  the  depths  of  a  yawning  abyss,— 

upon  Byron's,  — 

"  Know  ye  the  land  where  the  cypress  and  myrtle 

Are  emblems  of  deeds  that  are  done  in  their  clime ;  " 

and  I  was  only  trying  to  see  how  near  I  could  ap 
proach  to  his  exquisite  metre.  I  do  not  think  I 
felt  at  all  murderous  in  writing  it ;  but  a  more 
innocent  subject  would  have  been  in  better  taste, 
and  would  have  met  the  exigencies  of  the  dactyl 
quite  as  well. 

It  is  also  only  fair  to  myself  to  say  that  my 
rhyming  was  usually  of  a  more  wholesome  kind. 
I  loved  Nature  as  I  knew  her,  —  in  our  stern, 
blustering,  stimulating  New  England,  —  and  1 
chanted  the  praises  of  Winter,  of  snow-storms,  antf 


216  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

of  March  winds  (I  always  took  pride  in  my  birth 
month,  March),  with  hearty  delight. 

Flowers  had  begun  to  bring  me  messages  from 
their  own  world  when  I  was  a  very  small  child, 
and  they  never  withdrew  their  companionship 
from  my  thoughts,  for  there  came  summers  when 
I  could  only  look  out  of  the  mill  window  and 
dream  about  them. 

I  had  one  pet  window  plant  of  my  own,  a  red 
rose-bush,  almost  a  perpetual  bloomer,  that  I  kept 
beside  me  at  my  work  for  years.  1  parted  with 
it  only  when  I  went  away  to  the  West,  and  then 
with  regret,  for  it  had  been  to  me  like  a  human 
little  friend.  But  the  wild  flowers  had  my  heart. 
I  lived  and  breathed  with  them,  out  under  the 
free  winds  of  heaven ;  and  when  I  could  not  see 
them,  I  wrote  about  them.  Much  that  I  contrib 
uted  to  those  mill-magazine  pages,  they  suggested, 
—  my  mute  teachers,  comforters,  and  inspirers. 
It  seems  to  me  that  any  one  who  does  not  care  for 
wild  flowers  misses  half  the  sweetness  of  this 
mortal  life. 

Horace  Smith's  "  Hymn  to  the  Flowers  "  was  a 
continual  delight  to  me,  after  I  made  its  acquaint 
ance.  It  seemed  as  if  all  the  wild  blossoms  of  the 
woods  had  wandered  in  and  were  twining  them 
selves  around  the  whirring  spindles,  as  I  repeated 
it,  verse  after  verse.  Better  still,  they  drew  me 
out,  in  fancy,  to  their  own  forest-haunts  under 
"  cloistered  boughs,"  where  each  swinging  "  flo- 


MILL-GIRLS'  MAGAZINES.  217 

ral  bell "  was  ringing  "  a  call  to  prayer,"  and 
making  "  Sabbath  in  the  fields." 

Bryant's  "  Forest  Hymn  "  did  me  an  equally 
beautiful  service.  I  knew  every  word  of  it.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  Bryant  understood  the  very 
heart  and  soul  of  the  flowers  as  hardly  anybody 
else  did.  He  made  me  feel  as  if  they  were  really 
related  to  us  human  beings.  In  fancy  my  feet 
pressed  the  turf  where  they  grew,  and  I  knew 
them  as  my  little  sisters,  while  my  thought* 
touched  them,  one  by  one,  saying  with  him,  — 

"  That  delicate  forest-flower, 
With  scented  breath,  and  look  so  like  a  smile, 
Seems,  as  it  issues  from  the  shapeless  mould, 
An  emanation  of  the  indwelling  Life, 
A  visible  token  of  the  upholding  Love, 
That  are  the  soul  of  this  wide  universe." 

I  suppose  that  most  of  my  readers  will  scarcely 
be  older  than  I  was  when  I  wrote  my  sermonish 
little  poems  under  the  inspiration  of  the  flowers 
at  my  factory  work,  and  perhaps  they  will  be  in 
terested  in  reading  a  specimen  or  two  from  the 
" Lowell  Offering:"  — 

LIVE  LIKE  THE  FLOWERS. 
Cheerfully  wave  they  o'er  valley  and  mountain, 
Gladden  the  desert,  and  smile  by  the  fountain ; 
Pale  discontent  in  no  young  blossom  lowers  :  — 
Live  like  the  flowers ! 

Meekly  their  buds  in  the  heavy  rain  bending1, 
Softly  their  hues  with  the  mellow  light  blending, 
Gratefully  welcoming  sunlight  and  showers :  — 
Live  like  the  flowers  I 


218  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

Freely  their  sweets  on  the  wild  breezes  fling-ing, 
While  in  their  depths  are  new  odors  upspringing :  •*• 
(Blessedness  twofold  of  Love's  holy  dowers,) 
Live  like  the  flowers ! 

Gladly  they  heed  Who  their  brightness  has  given: 
Blooming  on  earth,  look  they  all  up  to  heaven ; 
Humbly  look  up  from  their  loveliest  bowers :  — 
Live  like  the  flowers ! 

Peacefully  droop  they  when  autumn  is  sighing ; 
Breathing  mild  fragrance  around  them  in  dying, 
Sleep  they  in  hope  of  Spring's  freshening  hours :  — 
Die  like  the  flowers  I 

The  prose-poem  that  follows  was  put  into  a 
rhymed  version  by  several  unknown  hands  in 
periodicals  of  that  day,  so  that  at  last  I  also  wrote 
one,  in  self-defense,  to  claim  my  own  waif.  But 
it  was  a  prose-poem  that  I  intended  it  to  be,  and 
I  think  it  is  better  so. 

"  BRING  BACK  MY  FLOWERS." 
On  the  bank  of  a  rivulet  sat  a  rosy  child.  Her  lap 
was  filled  with  flowers,  and  a  garland  of  rose-buds  was 
twined  around  her  neck.  Her  face  was  as  radiant  as  the 
sunshine  that  fell  upon  it,  and  her  voice  was  as  clear  as 
that  of  the  bird  which  warbled  at  her  side. 

The  little  stream  went  singing  on,  and  with  every 
gush  of  its  music  the  child  lifted  a  flower  in  her  dim 
pled  hand,  and,  with  a  merry  laugh,  threw  it  upon  the 
water.  In  her  glee  she  forgot  that  her  treasures  were 
growing  less,  and  with  the  swift  motion  of  childhood, 
she  flung  them  upon  the  sparkling  tide,  until  every  bud 
and  blossom  had  disappeared. 


MILL-GIRLS'  MAGAZINES.  219 

Then,  seeing  her  loss,  she  sprang  to  her  feet,  and 
bursting  into  tears,  called  aloud  to  the  stream,  "  Bring 
back  my  flowers  !  "  But  the  stream  danced  along,  re 
gardless  of  her  sorrow ;  and  as  it  bore  the  blooming 
burden  away,  her  words  came  back  in  a  taunting  echo, 
along  its  reedy  margin.  And  long  after,  amid  the 
wailing  of  the  breeze  and  the  fitful  bursts  of  childish 
grief,  was  heard  the  fruitless  cry,  "  Bring  back  my 
flowers ! " 

Merry  maiden,  who  art  idly  wasting  the  precious 
moments  so  bountifully  bestowed  upon  thee,  see  in  the 
thoughtless  child  an  emblem  of  thyself!  Each  mo 
ment  is  a  perfumed  flower.  Let  its  fragrance  be  dif 
fused  in  blessings  around  thee,  and  ascend  as  sweet  in 
cense  to  the  beneficent  Giver  ! 

Else,  when  thou  hast  carelessly  flung  them  from  thee, 
and  seest  them  receding  on  the  swift  waters  of  Time, 
thou  wilt  cry,  in  tones  more  sorrowful  than  those  of  the 
weeping  child,  "  Bring  back  my  flowers  !  "  And  thy 
only  answer  will  be  an  echo  from  the  shadowy  Past,  — 
"  Bring  back  my  flowers ! " 

In  the  above,  a  reminiscence  of  my  German 
studies  comes  back  to  me.  I  was  an  admirer  of 
Jean  Paul,  and  one  of  my  earliest  attempts  at 
translation  was  his  "  New  Year's  Night  of  an  Un 
happy  Man,"  with  its  yet  haunting  glimpse  of  "  a 
fair  long  paradise  beyond  the  mountains."  I  am 
not  sure  but  the  idea  of  trying  my  hand  at  a 
"  prose-poem  "  came  to  me  from  Richter,  though 
it  may  have  been  from  Herder  or  Krummacher, 
whom  I  also  enjoyed  and  attempted  to  translate* 


220  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

I  have  a  manuscript-book  still,  tilled  with  these 
youthful  efforts.  I  even  undertook  to  put  Ger 
man  verse  into  English  verse,  not  wincing  at  the 
greatest  —  Goethe  and  Schiller.  These  studies 
were  pursued  in  the  pleasant  days  of  cloth-room 
leisure,  when  my  work  claimed  me  only  seven 
or  eight  hours  in  a  day. 

I  suppose  I  should  have  tried  to  write,  —  per 
haps  I  could  not  very  well  have  helped  attempting 
it,  —  under  any  circumstances.  My  early  efforts 
would  not,  probably,  have  found  their  way  into 
print,  however,  but  for  the  coincident  publication 
of  the  two  mill-girls'  magazines,  just  as  I  entered 
my  teens.  I  fancy  that  almost  everything  any 
of  us  offered  them  was  published,  though  I  never 
was  let  in  to  editorial  secrets.  The  editors  of 
both  magazines  were  my  seniors,  and  I  felt  greatly 
honored  by  their  approval  of  my  contributions. 

One  of  the  "  Offering  "  editors  was  a  Unitarian 
clergyman's  daughter,  and  had  received  an  excel 
lent  education.  The  other  was  a  remarkably  bril 
liant  and  original  young  woman,  who  wrote  novels 
that  were  published  by  the  Harpers  of  New  York 
while  she  was  employed  at  Lowell.  The  two  had 
rooms  together  for  a  time,  where  the  members 
of  the  "Improvement  Circle,"  chiefly  composed 
of  "  Offering  "  writers,  were  hospitably  received. 

The  "  Operatives'  Magazine  "  and  the  "  Lowell 
Offering"  were  united  in  the  year  1842,  under  the 
title  of  the  "  Lowell  Offering  and  Magazine." 


MILL-GIRLS1  MAGAZINES.  221 

(And  —  to  correct  a  mistake  which  has  crept 
into  print  —  I  will  say  that  I  never  attained  the 
honor  of  being  editor  of  either  of  these  maga 
zines.  I  was  only  one  of  their  youngest  contribu 
tors.  The  "  Lowell  Offering  "  closed  its  existence 
when  I  was  a  little  more  than  twenty  years  old. 
The  only  continuous  editing  I  have  ever  been  en 
gaged  in  was  upon  "  Our  Young  Folks."  About 
twenty  years  ago  I  was  editor-in-charge  of  that 
magazine  for  a  year  or  more,  and  I  had  previ 
ously  been  its  assistant-editor  from  its  beginning. 
These  explanatory  items,  however,  do  not  quite 
belong  to  my  narrative,  and  I  return  to  our  maga 
zines.) 

We  did  not  receive  much  criticism ;  perhaps  it 
would  have  been  better  for  us  if  we  had.  But 
then  we  did  not  set  ourselves  up  to  be  literary ; 
though  we  enjoyed  the  freedom  of  writing  what 
we  pleased,  and  seeing  how  it  looked  in  print.  It 
was  good  practice  for  us,  and  that  was  all  that 
we  desired.  We  were  complimented  and  quoted. 
When  a  Philadelphia  paper  copied  one  of  my  little 
poems,  suggesting  some  verbal  improvements,  and 
predicting  recognition  for  me  in  the  future,  I  felt 
for  the  first  time  that  there  might  be  such  a  thing 
as  public  opinion  worth  caring  for,  in  addition  to 
doing  one's  best  for  its  own  sake. 

Fame,  indeed,  never  had  much  attraction  for 
me,  except  as  it  took  the  form  of  friendly  recog 
nition  and  the  sympathetic  approval  of  worthy 


222  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

judges.  I  wished  to  do  good  and  true  things,  but 
not  such  as  would  subject  me  to  the  stare  of  coldly 
curious  eyes.  I  could  never  imagine  a  girl  feel 
ing  any  pleasure  in  placing  herself  "  before  the 
public."  The  privilege  of  seclusion  must  be  the 
last  one  a  woman  can  willingly  sacrifice. 

And,  indeed,  what  we  wrote  was  not  remarka 
ble,  —  perhaps  no  more  so  than  the  usual  school 
compositions  of  intelligent  girls.  It  would  hardly 
be  worth  while  to  refer  to  it  particularly,  had 
not  the  Lowell  girls  and  their  magazines  been  so 
frequently  spoken  of  as  something  phenomenal. 
But  it  was  a  perfectly  natural  outgrowth  of  those 
girls'  previous  life.  For  what  were  we?  Girls 
who  were  working  in  a  factory  for  the  time,  to  be 
sure ;  but  none  of  us  had  the  least  idea  of  con 
tinuing  at  that  kind  of  work  permanently.  Our 
composite  photograph,  had  it  been  taken,  would 
have  been  the  representative  New  England  girl 
hood  of  those  days.  We  had  all  been  fairly  ed 
ucated  at  public  or  private  schools,  and  many 
of  us  were  resolutely  bent  upon  obtaining  a  better 
education.  Very  few  were  among  us  without  some 
distinct  plan  for  bettering  the  condition  of  them 
selves  and  those  they  loved.  For  the  first  time, 
our  young  women  had  come  forth  from  their  home 
retirement  in  a  throng,  each  with  her  own  indi 
vidual  purpose.  For  twenty  years  or  so,  Lowell 
might  have  been  looked  upon  as  a  rather  select  in 
dustrial  school  for  young  people.  The  girls  there 


MILL-GIRLS9  MAGAZINES.  223 

were  just  such  girls  as  are  knocking  at  the  doors 
of  young  women's  colleges  to-day.  They  had 
come  to  work  with  their  hands,  but  they  could  not 
hinder  the  working  of  their  minds  also.  Their 
mental  activity  was  overflowing  at  every  possible 
outlet. 

Many  of  them  were  supporting  themselves  at 
schools  like  Bradford  Academy  or  Ipswich  Semi 
nary  half  the  year,  by  working  in  the  mills  the 
other  half.  Mount  Holyoke  Seminary  broke  upon 
the  thoughts  of  many  of  them  as  a  vision  of  hope, 
—  I  remember  being  dazzled  by  it  myself  for  a 
while,  —  and  Mary  Lyon's  name  was  honored  no 
where  more  than  among  the  Lowell  mill-girls. 
Meanwhile  they  were  improving  themselves  and 
preparing  for  their  future  in  every  possible  way, 
by  purchasing  and  reading  standard  books,  by  at 
tending  lectures  and  evening  classes  of  their  own 
getting  up,  and  by  meeting  each  other  for  reading 
and  conversation. 

That  they  should  write  was  no  more  strange 
than  that  they  should  study,  or  read,  or  think. 
And  yet  there  were  those  to  whom  it  seemed  in 
credible  that  a  girl  could,  in  the  pauses  of  her 
work,  put  together  words  with  her  pen  that  it 
would  do  to  print ;  and  after  a  while  the  asser 
tion  was  circulated,  through  some  distant  news 
paper,  that  our  magazine  was  not  written  by  our 
selves  at  all,  but  by  "Lowell  lawyers."  This 
seemed  almost  too  foolish  a  suggestion  to  contra* 


3J24  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

diet,  but  the  editor  of  the  "  Offering  "  thought  it 
best  to  give  the  name  and  occupation  of  some  of 
the  writers  by  way  of  refutation.  It  was  for  this 
reason  (much  against  my  own  wish)  that  my  real 
name  was  first  attached  to  anything  I  wrote.  I 
was  then  book-keeper  in  the  cloth-room  of  the 
Lawrence  Mills.  We  had  all  used  any  fanciful 
signature  we  chose,  varying  it  as  we  pleased. 
After  I  began  to  read  and  love  Wordsworth,  my 
favorite  nom  de  plume  was  "  Kotha."  In  the 
later  numbers  of  the  magazine,  the  editor  more 
frequently  made  use  of  my  initials.  One  day  I 
was  surprised  by  seeing  my  name  in  full  in  Gris- 
wold's  "Female  Poets;'' — no  great  distinction, 
however,  since  there  were  a  hundred  names  or  so, 
besides. 

It  has  seemed  necessary  to  give  these  gossip 
items  about  myself ;  but  the  real  interest  of  every 
separate  life-story  is  involved  in  the  larger  life- 
history  which  is  going  on  around  it.  We  do  not 
know  ourselves  without  our  companions  and  sur 
roundings.  I  cannot  narrate  my  workmates'  sep 
arate  experiences,  but  I  know  that  because  of 
having  lived  among  them,  and  because  of  hav 
ing  felt  the  beauty  and  power  of  their  lives,  I 
am  different  from  what  I  should  otherwise  have 
been,  and  it  is  my  own  fault  if  I  am  not  better 
for  my  life  with  them. 

In  recalling  those  years  of  my  girlhood  at  Low 
ell,  I  often  think  that  I  knew  then  what  real 
society  is  better  perhaps  than  ever  since.  For  in 


MILL-GIRLS1  MAGAZINES.  225 

that  large  gathering  together  of  young  woman 
hood  there  were  many  choice  natures  —  some  of 
the  choicest  in  all  our  excellent  New  England, 
and  there  were  no  false  social  standards  to  hold 
them  apart.  It  is  the  best  society  when  people 
meet  sincerely,  on  the  ground  of  their  deepest 
sympathies  and  highest  aspirations,  without  con 
ventionality  or  cliques  or  affectation ;  and  it  was 
in  that  way  that  these  young  girls  met  and  became 
acquainted  with  each  other,  almost  of  necessity. 

There  were  all  varieties  of  woman-nature  among 
them,  all  degrees  of  refinement  and  cultivation, 
and,  of  course,  many  sharp  contrasts  of  agreeable 
and  disagreeable.  It  was  not  always  the  most 
cultivated,  however,  who  were  the  most  compan 
ionable.  There  were  gentle,  untaught  girls,  as 
fresh  and  simple  as  wild  flowers,  whose  unpre 
tending  goodness  of  heart  was  better  to  have  than 
bookishness ;  girls  who  loved  everybody,  and  were 
loved  by  everybody.  Those  are  the  girls  that  I 
remember  best,  and  their  memory  is  sweet  as  a 
breeze  from  the  clover  fields. 

As  I  recall  the  throngs  of  unknown  girlish 
forms  that  used  to  pass  and  repass  me  on  the  fa 
miliar  road  to  the  mill-gates,  and  also  the  few 
that  I  knew  so  well,  those  with  whom  I  worked, 
thought,  read,  wrote,  studied,  and  worshiped,  my 
thoughts  send  a  heartfelt  greeting  to  them  all, 
wherever  in  God's  beautiful,  busy  universe  they 
may  now  be  scattered  :  — 

"  I  am  glad  I  have  lived  in  the  world  with  you !  " 


XI. 

BEADING  AND  STUDYING. 

MY  return  to  mill-work  involved  making  ac 
quaintance  with  a  new  kind  of  machinery.  The 
spinning-room  was  the  only  one  I  had  hitherto 
known  anything  about.  Now  my  sister  Einilie 
found  a  place  for  me  in  the  dressing-room,  beside 
herself.  It  was  more  airy,  and  fewer  girls  were  in 
the  room,  for  the  dressing  -  frame  itself  was  a 
large,  clumsy  affair,  that  occupied  a  great  deal  ot 
space.  Mine  seemed  to  me  as  unmanageable  as 
an  overgrown  spoilt  child.  It  had  to  be  watched 
in  a  dozen  directions  every  minute,  and  even  then 
it  was  always  getting  itself  and  me  into  trouble. 
I  felt  as  if  the  half-live  creature,  with  its  great, 
groaning  joints  and  whizzing  fan,  was  aware  of 
my  incapacity  to  manage  it,  and  had  a  fiendish 
spite  against  me.  I  contracted  an  unconquerable 
dislike  to  it ;  indeed,  I  had  never  liked,  and  never 
could  learn  to  like,  any  kind  of  machinery.  And 
this  machine  finally  conquered  me.  It  was  hu 
miliating,  but  I  had  to  acknowledge  that  there 
were  some  things  I  could  not  do,  and  I  retired 
from  the  field,  vanquished. 

The  two  things  I  had  enjoyed  in  this  room 


READING  AND  STUDYING.  227 

were  that  my  sister  was  with  me,  and  that  our 
windows  looked  toward  the  west.  When  the  work 
was  running  smoothly,  we  looked  out  together  and 
quoted  to  each  other  all  the  sunset-poetry  we 
could  remember.  Our  tastes  did  not  quite  agree. 
Her  favorite  description  of  the  clouds  was  from 
Pollok:  — 

"  They  seemed  like  chariots  of  saints, 
By  fiery  coursers  drawn ;  as  brightly  hued 
As  if  the  glorious,  bushy,  golden  locks 
Of  thousand  cherubim  had  been  shorn  off, 
And  on  the  temples  hung  of  morn  and  even." 

J  liked  better  a  translation  from  the  German, 
beginning 

"  Methinks  it  were  no  pain  to  die 
On  such  an  eve,  while  such  a  sky 
O'ercanopies  the  west." 

And  she  generally  had  to  hear  the  whole  poemy 
for  I  was  very  fond  of  it ;  though  the  especial 
verse  that  I  contrasted  with  hers  was,  — 

"  There  's  peace  and  welcome  in  yon  sea 
Of  endless  blue  tranquillity ; 

Those  clouds  are  living  things  ; 
I  trace  their  veins  of  liquid  gold, 
And  see  them  silently  unfold 

Their  soft  and  fleecy  wings." 

Then  she  would  tell  me  that  my  nature  in 
clined  to  quietness  and  harmony,  while  hers  asked 
for  motion  and  splendor.  I  wondered  whether  it 
really  were  so.  But  that  huge,  creaking  frame 
work  beside  us  would  continually  intrude  upon 


228          A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

our  meditations  and  break  up  our  discussions,  and 
silence  all  poetry  for  us  with  its  dull  prose. 

Emilie  found  more  profitable  work  elsewhere, 
and  I  found  some  that  was  less  so,  but  far  more 
satisfactory,  as  it  would  give  me  the  openings  of 
leisure  which  I  craved. 

The  paymaster  asked,  when  I  left,  "  Going 
where  you  can  earn  more  money  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  answered,  "  I  am  going  where  I  can 
have  more  time." 

"  Ah,  yes !  "  he  said  sententiously,  "  time  is 
money."  But  that  was  not  my  thought  about  it. 
"  Time  is  education,"  I  said  to  myself  ;  for  that 
was  what  I  meant  it  should  be  to  me. 

Perhaps  I  never  gave  the  wage -earning  ele 
ment  in  work  its  due  weight.  It  always  seemed 
to  me  that  the  Apostle's  idea  about  worldly  pos 
sessions  was  the  only  sensible  one,  — 

"  Having  food  and  raiment,  let  us  be  there 
with  content." 

If  I  could  earn  enough  to  furnish  that,  and 
have  time  to  study  besides,  —  of  course  we  always 
gave  away  a  little,  however  little  we  had,  —  it 
seemed  to  me  a  sufficiency.  At  this  time  I  was 
receiving  two  dollars  a  week,  besides  my  board. 
Those  who  were  earning  much  more,  and  were 
carefully  "  laying  it  up,"  did  not  appear  to  be 
any  happier  than  I  was. 

I  never  thought  that  the  possession  of  money 
would  make  me  feel  rich  •  it  often  does  seem  to 


READING  AND  STUDYING.  229 

have  an  opposite  effect.  But  then,  I  have  never 
had  the  opportunity  of  knowing,  by  experience, 
how  it  does  make  one  feel.  It  is  something  to 
have  been  spared  the  responsibility  of  taking 
charge  of  the  Lord's  silver  and  gold.  Let  us  be 
thankful  for  what  we  have  not,  as  well  as  for 
what  we  have ! 

Freedom  to  live  one's  life  truly  is  surely  more 
desirable  than  any  earthly  acquisition  or  pos 
session  ;  and  at  my  new  work  I  had  hours  of 
freedom  every  day.  I  never  went  back  again  to 
the  bondage  of  machinery  and  a  working-day 
thirteen  hours  long. 

The  daughter  of  one  of  our  neighbors,  who  also 
went  to  the  same  church  with  us,  told  me  of  a 
vacant  place  in  the  cloth-room,  where  she  was, 
which  I  gladly  secured.  This  was  a  low  brick 
building  next  the  counting-room,  and  a  little 
apart  from  the  mills,  where  the  cloth  was  folded, 
stamped,  and  baled  for  the  market. 

There  were  only  half  a  dozen  girls  of  us,  who 
measured  the  cloth,  and  kept  an  account  of  the 
pieces  baled,  and  their  length  in  yards.  It 
pleased  me  much  to  have  something  to  do  which 
required  the  use  of  pen  and  ink,  and  I  think 
there  must  be  a  good  many  scraps  of  verse  buried 
among  the  blank  pages  of  those  old  account-books 
of  mine,  that  found  their  way  there  during  the 
frequent  half-hours  of  waiting  for  the  cloth  to  be 
brought  in  from  the  mills. 


230          A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

The  only  machinery  in  the  room  was  a  hy 
draulic  arrangement  for  pressing  the  cloth  into 
bales,  managed  by  two  or  three  men,  one  of 
whom  was  quite  a  poet,  and  a  fine  singer  also. 
His  hymns  were  frequently  in  request,  on  public 
occasions.  He  lent  me  the  first  volume  of  Whit- 
tier's  poems  that  I  ever  saw.  It  was  a  small 
book,  containing  mostly  Antislavery  pieces.  "  The 
Yankee  Girl"  was  one  of  them,  fully  to  appre 
ciate  the  spirit  of  which,  it  is  necessary  to  have 
been  a  working-girl  in  slave-labor  times.  New 
England  Womanhood  crowned  Whittier  as  her 
laureate  from  the  day  of  his  heroine  's  spirited 
response  to  the  slaveholder  :  — 

"  O,  could  ye  have  seen  her  —  that  pride  of  our  girls-— 
Arise  and  cast  back  the  dark  wealth  of  her  curls, 
With  a  scorn  in  her  eye  that  the  gazer  could  feel, 
And  a  glance  like  the  sunshine  that  flashes  on  steel  I 

"  *  Go  hack,  haughty  Southron !  Go  hack !  for  thy  gold 
Is  red  with  the  hlood  of  the  hearts  thou  hast  sold !  '  " 

There  was  in  this  volume  another  poem  which 
is  not  in  any  of  the  later  editions,  the  impression 
of  which,  as  it  remains  to  me  in  broken  snatches, 
is  very  beautiful.  It  began  with  the  lines 

"  Bind  up  thy  tresses,  thou  "beautiful  one, 
Of  brown  in  the  shadow,  and  gold  in  the  sun." 

It  was  a  refreshment  and  an  inspiration  to 
look  into  this  book  between  my  long  rows  of 
figures,  and  read  such  poems  as  "  The  Angel  of 
Patience,"  "Follen,"  "Raphael,"  and  that  won- 


READING  AND  STUDYING.  231 

derfully  rendered  "  Hymn  "  from  Lamartine,  that 
used  to  whisper  itself  through  me  after  I  had 
read  it,  like  the  echo  of  a  spirit's  voice :  — 

"  When  the  Breath  Divine  is  flowing, 
Zephyr-like  o'er  all  things  going, 
And,  as  the  touch  of  viewless  fingers, 
Softly  on  my  soul  it  lingers, 
Open  to  a  breath  the  lightest, 
Conscious  of  a  touch  the  slightest,  — 

Then,  O  Father,  Thou  alone, 
From  the  shadow  of  thy  throne, 
To  the  sighing  of  my  breast 
And  its  rapture  answerest." 

I  grew  so  familiar  with  this  volume  that  I  felt 
acquainted  with  the  poet  long  before  I  met 
him.  It  remained  in  my  desk-drawer  for  months 
I  thought  it  belonged  to  my  poetic  friend,  the 
baler  of  cloth.  But  one  day  he  informed  me 
that  it  was  a  borrowed  book ;  he  thought,  how 
ever,  he  should  claim  it  for  his  own,  now  that  he 
had  kept  it  so  long.  Upon  which  remark  I  de 
livered  it  up  to  the  custody  of  his  own  conscience, 
and  saw  it  no  more. 

One  day,  towards  the  last  of  my  stay  at  Lowell 
(I  never  changed  my  work-room  again),  this  same 
friendly  fellow-toiler  handed  me  a  poem  to  read* 
which  some  one  had  sent  in  to  us  from  the  count 
ing-room,  with  the  penciled  comment,  "  Singu 
larly  beautiful."  It  was  Poe's  "  Raven,"  which 
had  just  made  its  first  appearance  in  some  mag 
azine.  It  seemed  like  an  apparition  in  literature, 


232          A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

indeed ;  the  sensation  it  created  among  the  staid, 
measured  lyrics  of  that  day,  with  its  flit  of  spec 
tral  wings,  and  its  ghostly  refrain  of  "  Never 
more  !  "  was  very  noticeable.  Poe  came  to  Lowell 
to  live  awhile,  but  it  was  after  I  had  gone  away. 

Our  national  poetry  was  at  this  time  just  be 
ginning  to  be  well  known  and  appreciated.  Bry 
ant  had  published  two  volumes,  and  every  school 
child  was  familiar  with  his  "  Death  of  the  Flow 
ers  "  and  "  God's  First  Temples."  Some  one  lent 
me  the  "  Voices  of  the  Night,"  the  only  collection 
of  Longfellow's  verse  then  issued,  I  think.  The 
"  Footsteps  of  Angels "  glided  at  once  into  my 
memory,  and  took  possession  of  a  permanent  place 
there,  with  its  tender  melody.  "  The  Last  Leaf  " 
and  "  Old  Ironsides  "  were  favorites  with  every 
body  who  read  poetry  at  all,  but  I  do  not  think 
we  Lowell  girls  had  a  volume  of  Dr.  Holmes's 
poems  at  that  time. 

"  The  Lady's  Book "  and  "  Graham's  Maga 
zine  "  were  then  the  popular  periodicals,  and  the 
mill-girls  took  them.  I  remember  that  the  "  nug 
gets  "  I  used  to  pick  out  of  one  or  the  other  of 
them  when  I  was  quite  a  child  were  labeled  with 
the  signature  of  Harriet  E.  Beecher.  "  Father 
Morris,"  and  "  Uncle  Tim,"  and  others  of  the 
delightful  "  May-Flower  "  sketches  first  appeared 
in  this  way.  Irving's  "  Sketch  Book  "  all  read 
ing  people  were  supposed  to  have  read,  and  I  re 
call  the  pleasure  it  was  to  me  when  one  of  my 


READING  AND  STUDYING.  233 

sisters  came  into  possession  of  "  Knickerbocker's 
History  of  New  York."  It  was  the  first  humor 
ous  book,  as  well  as  the  first  history,  that  I  ever 
cared  about.  And  I  was  pleased  enough  —  for  I 
was  a  little  girl  when  my  fondness  for  it  began 
—  to  hear  our  minister  say  that  he  always  read 
Diedrich  Knickerbocker  for  his  tired  Monday's 
recreation. 

We  were  allowed  to  have  books  in  the  cloth- 
roojq^-. JIbfr-  absence  of  machinery  permitted  that 
privilege.  Our  superintendent,  who  was  a  man 
of  culture  and  a  Christian  gentleman  of  the  Puri 
tan-school,  dignified  and  reserved,  used  often  to 
stop  at  my  desk  in  his  daily  round  to  see  what 
book  I  was  reading.  One  day  it  was  Mather's 
"  Magnalia,"  which  I  had  brought  from  the  pub 
lic  library,  with  a  desire  to  know  something  of 
the  early  history  of  New  England.  He  looked  a 
little  surprised  at  the  archaeological  turn  my  mind 
had  taken,  but  his  only  comment  was,  "  A  valua 
ble  old  book  that."  It  was  a  satisfaction  to  have 
a  superintendent  like  him,  whose  granite  princi 
ples,  emphasized  by  his  stately  figure  and  bear 
ing,  made  him  a  tower  of  strength  in  the  church 
and  in  the  community.  He  kept  a  silent,  kindly, 
rigid  watch  over  the  corporation-life  of  which  he 
was  the  head  ;  and  only  those  of  us  who  were  in 
cidentally  admitted  to  his  confidence  knew  how 
carefully  we  were  guarded. 

We  had  occasional  glimpses  into  his  own  well- 


234  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

ordered  home-life,  at  social  gatherings.  His  little 
daughter  was  in  my  infant  Sabbath-school  class 
from  her  fourth  to  her  seventh  or  eighth  year. 
She  sometimes  visited  me  at  my  work,  and  we  had 
our  frolics  among  the  heaps  of  cloth,  as  if  we 
were  both  children.  She  had  also  the  same  love 
of  hymns  that  I  had  as  a  child,  and  she  would  sit 
by  my  side  and  repeat  to  me  one  after  another 
that  she  had  learned,  not  as  a  task,  but  because 
of  her  delight  in  them.  One  of  my  sincerest 
griefs  in  going  off  to  the  West  was  that  I  should 
see  my  little  pupil  Mary  as  a  child  no  more. 
When  I  came  back,  she  was  a  grown-up  young 
woman. 

My  friend  Anna,  who  had  procured  for  me  the 
place  and  work  beside  her  which  I  liked  so  much, 
was  not  at  all  a  bookish  person,  but  we  had  per 
haps  a  better  time  together  than  if  she  had  been. 
She  was  one  who  found  the  happiness  of  her  life 
in  doing  kindnesses  for  others,  and  in  helping 
them  bear  their  burdens.  Family  reverses  had 
brought  her,  with  her  mother  and  sisters,  to  Low 
ell,  and  this  was  one  strong  point  of  sympathy 
between  my  own  family  and  hers.  It  was,  indeed, 
a  bond  of  neighborly  union  between  a  great  many 
households  in  the  young  manufacturing  city. 
Anna's  manners  and  language  were  those  of  a 
lady,  though  she  had  come  from  the  wilds  of 
Maine,  somewhere  in  the  vicinity  of  Mount  Des 
ert,  the  very  name  of  which  seemed  in  those  days 


READING  AND  STUDYING.  235 

to  carry  one  into  a  wilderness  of  mountains  and 
waves.  We  chatted  together  at  our  work  on  all 
manner  of  subjects,  and  once  she  astonished  me 
by  saying  confidentially,  in  a  low  tone,  "  Do  you 
know,  I  am  thirty  years  old !  "  She  spoke  as  if 
she  thought  the  fact  implied  something  serious. 
My  surprise  was  that  she  should  have  taken  me 
into  her  intimate  friendship  when  I  was  only  sev 
enteen.  I  should  hardly  have  supposed  her  older 
than  myself,  if  she  had  not  volunteered  the  infor 
mation. 

When  I  lifted  my  eyes  from  her  tall,  thin  fig 
ure  to  her  fair  face  and  somewhat  sad  blue  eyes, 
I  saw  that  she  looked  a  little  worn ;  but  I  knew 
that  it  was  from  care  for  others,  strangers  as  well 
as  her  own  relatives ;  and  it  seemed  to  me  as  if 
those  thirty  loving  years  were  her  rose-garland. 
I  became  more  attached  to  her  than  ever. 

What  a  foolish  dread  it  is,  —  showing  unripeness 
rather  than  youth,  —  the  dread  of  growing  old ! 
For  how  can  a  life  be  beautified  more  than  by  its 
beautiful  years  ?  A  living,  loving,  growing  spirit 
can  never  be  old.  Emerson  says :  — 

"  Spring  still  makes  spring  in  the  mind, 
When  sixty  years  are  told  ;  " 

and  some  of  us  are  thankful  to  have  lived  long 
enough  to  bear  witness  with  him  to  that  truth. 

The  few  others  who  measured  cloth  with  us 
were  nice,  bright  girls,  and  some  of  them  remark 
ably  pretty.  Our  work  and  the  room  itself  were 


236  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

so  clean  that  in  summer  we  could  wear  fresh  mus 
lin  dresses,  sometimes  white  ones,  without  fear  of 
soiling  them.  This  slight  difference  of  apparel 
and  our  fewer  work-hours  seemed  to  give  us  a 
slight  advantage  over  the  toilers  in  the  mills  oppo 
site,  and  we  occasionally  heard  ourselves  spoken 
of  as  "  the  cloth-room  aristocracy."  But  that  was 
only  in  fun.  Most  of  us  had  served  an  appren 
ticeship  in  the  mills,  and  many  of  our  best  friends 
were  still  there,  preferring  their  work  because  it 
brought  them  more  money  than  we  could  earn. 

For  myself,  no  amount  of  money  would  have 
been  a  temptation,  compared  with  my  precious 
daytime  freedom.  Whole  hours  of  sunshine  for 
reading,  for  walking,  for  studying,  for  writing, 
for  anything  that  I  wanted  to  do  !  The  days  were 
so  lovely  and  so  long!  and  yet  how  fast  they 
slipped  away !  I  had  not  given  up  my  dream  of 
a  better  education,  and  as  I  could  not  go  to  school, 
I  began  to  study  by  myself. 

I  had  received  a  pretty  thorough  drill  in  the 
common  English  branches  at  the  grammar  school, 
and  at  my  employment  I  only  needed  a  little  sim 
ple  arithmetic.  A  few  of  my  friends  were  study 
ing  algebra  in  an  evening  class,  but  I  had  no 
fancy  for  mathematics.  My  first  wish  was  to 
learn  about  English  Literature,  to  go  back  to  its 
very  beginnings.  It  was  not  then  studied  even 
in  the  higher  schools,  and  I  knew  no  one  who 
could  give  me  any  assistance  in  it,  as  a  teacher. 


READING  AND  STUDYING.  237 

"  Percy's  Reliques  "  and  "  Chambers'  Cyclopaedia 
of  English  Literature  "  were  in  the  city  library, 
and  I  used  them,  making  extracts  from  Chaucer 
and  Spenser,  to  fix  their  peculiarities  in  my  mem< 
ory,  though  there  was  only  a  taste  of  them  to  be 
had  from  the  Cyclopaedia. 

Shakespeare  I  had  read  from  childhood,  in  a 
fragmentary  way.  "  The  Tempest,"  and  "  Mid 
summer  Night's  Dream,"  and  "King  Lear,"  I 
had  swallowed  among  my  fairy  tales.  Now  I  dis 
covered  that  the  historical  plays,  notably  "  Julius 
Caesar  "  and  "  Coriolanus,"  had  no  less  attraction 
for  me,  though  of  a  different  kind.  But  it  was 
easy  for  me  to  forget  that  I  was  trying  to  be  a  lit 
erary  student,  and  slip  off  from  Belmont  to  Ven 
ice  with  Portia  to  witness  the  discomfiture  of 
Shylock ;  although  I  did  pity  the  miserable  Jew, 
and  thought  he  might  at  least  have  been  allowed 
the  comfort  of  his  paltry  ducats.  I  do  not  think 
that  any  of  my  studying  at  this  time  was  very 
severe;  it  was  pleasure  rather  than  toil,  for  I 
undertook  only  the  tasks  I  liked.  But  what  I 
learned  remained  with  me,  nevertheless. 

With  Milton  I  was  more  familiar  than  with 
any  other  poet,  and  from  thirteen  years  of  age  to 
eighteen  he  was  my  preference.  My  friend  Ange- 
line  and  I  (another  of  my  cloth-room  associates) 
made  the  "  Paradise  Lost "  a  language-study  in  an 
evening  class,  under  one  of  the  grammar  school 
masters,  and  I  never  open  to  the  majestic  lines,  — 


238  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

11  High  on  a  throne  of  royal  state,  which  far 
Outshone  the  wealth  of  Ormus  and  of  Ind, 
Or  where  the  gorgeous  east  with  richest  hand 
Showers  on  her  kings  barbaric  pearl  and  gold,"  — 

without  seeing  Angelina's  kindly,  homely  face  out* 
lined  through  that  magnificence,  instead  of  the 
lineaments  of  the  evil  angel 

"  by  merit  raised 
To  that  bad  eminence.'* 

She,  too,  was  much  older  than  I,  and  a  most  ex 
cellent,  energetic,  and  studious  young  woman.  1 
wonder  if  she  remembers  how  hard  we  tried  to  get 

"  Beelzebub  — than  whom, 
Satan  except,  none  higher  sat," 

into  the  limits  of  our  grammatical  rules,  —  not 
altogether  with  success,  I  believe. 

I  copied  passages  from  Jeremy  Taylor  and  the 
old  theologians  into  my  note -books,  and  have 
found  them  useful  even  recently,  in  preparing 
compilations.  Dryden  and  the  eighteenth  century 
poets  generally  did  not  interest  me,  though  I  tried 
to  read  them  from  a  sense  of  duty.  Pope  was  an 
exception,  however.  Aphorisms  from  the  "  Essay 
on  Man  "  were  in  as  common  use  among  us  as 
those  from  the  Book  of  Proverbs. 

Some  of  my  choicest  extracts  were  in  the  first 
volume  of  collected  poetry  I  ever  owned,  a  little 
red  morocco  book  called  "  The  Young  Man's  Book 
of  Poetry."  It  was  given  me  by  one  of  my  sisters 
when  I  was  about  a  dozen  years  old,  who  rather 


READING  AND  STUDYING.  239 

apologized  for  the  young  man  on  the  title-page, 
saying  that  the  poetry  was  just  as  good  as  if  he 
were  not  there. 

And,  indeed,  no  young  man  could  have  valued 
it  more  than  I  did.  It  contained  selections  from 
standard  poets,  and  choice  ones  from  less  familiar 
sources.  One  of  the  extracts  was  Wordsworth's 
"  Sunset  among  the  Mountains,"  from  the  "  Ex 
cursion,"  to  read  which,  however  often,  always 
lifted  me  into  an  ecstasy.  That  red  morocco  book 
was  my  treasure.  It  traveled  with  me  to  the 
West,  and  I  meant  to  keep  it  as  long  as  I  lived. 
But  alas  !  it  was  borrowed  by  a  little  girl  out  on 
the  Illinois  prairies,  who  never  brought  it  back. 
I  do  not  know  that  I  have  ever  quite  forgiven  her. 
I  have  wished  I  could  look  into  it  again,  often 
and  often  through  the  years.  But  perhaps  I  ought 
to  be  grateful  to  that  little  girl  for  teaching  me  to 
be  careful  about  returning  borrowed  books  myself. 
Only  a  lover  of  them  can  appreciate  the  loss  of 
one  which  has  been  a  possession  from  childhood. 

Young  and  Cowper  were  considered  religious 
reading,  and  as  such  I  had  always  known  some 
thing  of  them.  The  songs  of  Burns  were  in  the 
air.  Through  him  I  best  learned  to  know  poetry 
as  song.  I  think  that  I  heard  the  "  Cotter's  Sat 
urday  Night "  and  "  A  man  's  a  man  for  a* 
that "  more  frequently  quoted  than  any  other 
poems  familiar  to  my  girlhood. 

Some  of  my  work-folk  acquaintances  were  reg* 


240  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

ular  subscribers  to  "  Blackwood's  Magazine  "  and 
the  "  Westminster  "  and  "  Edinburgh  "  reviews, 
and  they  lent  them  to  me.  These,  and  Macaulay's 
"  Essays,"  were  a  great  help  and  delight.  I  had 
also  the  reading  of  the  "  Bibliotheca  Sacra  "  and 
the  "  New  Englander  ;  "  and  sometimes  of  the 
"  North  American  Review." 

By  the  time  I  had  come  down  to  Wordsworth 
and  Coleridge  in  my  readings  of  English  poetry, 
I  was  enjoying  it  all  so  much  that  I  could  not  any 
longer  call  it  study. 

A  gift  from  a  friend  of  Griswold's  "  Poets  and 
Poetry  of  England  "  gave  me  my  first  knowledge 
of  Tennyson.  It  was  a  great  experience  to  read 
"  Locksley  Hall "  for  the  first  time  while  it  was 
yet  a  new  poem,  and  while  one's  own  young  life 
was  stirred  by  the  prophetic  spirit  of  the  age  that 
gave  it  birth. 

I  had  a  friend  about  my  own  age,  and  between 
us  there  was  something  very  much  like  what  is 
called  a  "  school-girl  friendship,"  a  kind  of  inti 
macy  supposed  to  be  superficial,  but  often  as  deep 
and  permanent  as  it  is  pleasant. 

Eliza  and  I  managed  to  see  each  other  every 
day ;  we  exchanged  confidences,  laughed  and  cried 
together,  read,  wrote,  walked,  visited,  and  studied 
together.  Her  dress  always  had  an  airy  touch 
which  I  admired,  although  I  was  rather  indifferent 
as  to  what  I  wore  myself.  But  she  would  en 
deavor  to  "  fix  me  up  "  tastefully,  while  I  would 


READING  AND  STUDYING.  241 

help  her  to  put  her  compositions  for  the  "  Offer 
ing  "  into  proper  style.  She  had  not  begun  to  go 
to  school  at  two  years  old,  repeating  the  same 
routine  of  study  every  year  of  her  childhood,  as  I 
had.  When  a  child,  I  should  have  thought  it  al 
most  as  much  of  a  disgrace  to  spell  a  word  wrong, 
or  make  a  mistake  in  the  multiplication  table,  as 
to  break  one  of  the  Ten  Commandments.  I  was 
astonished  to  find  that  Eliza  and  other  friends 
had  not  been  as  particularly  dealt  with  in  their 
early  education.  But  she  knew  her  deficiencies, 
and  earned  money  enough  to  leave  her  work  and 
attend  a  day-school  part  of  the  year. 

She  was  an  ambitious  scholar,  and  she  per 
suaded  me  into  studying  the  German  language 
with  her.  A  native  professor  had  formed  a  class 
among  young  women  connected  with  the  mills, 
and  we  joined  it.  We  met,  six  or  eight  of  us, 
at  the  home  of  two  of  these  young  women,  —  a 
factory  boarding-house,  —  in  a  neat  little  parlor 
which  contained  a  piano.  The  professor  was  a 
music-teacher  also,  and  he  sometimes  brought  his 
guitar,  and  let  us  finish  our  recitation  with  a  con 
cert.  More  frequently  he  gave  us  the  songs  of 
Deutschland  that  we  begged  for.  He  sang  the 
"  Erl-King  "  in  his  own  tongue  admirably.  We 
weikt  through  Pollen's  German  Grammar  and 
Reader:  —  what  a  choice  collection  of  extracts 
that  "  Reader  "  was !  We  conquered  the  difficult 
gutturals,  like  those  in  the  numeral  "  acht  und 


242  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

achtzig"  (the  test  of  our  pronouncing  abilities) 
BO  completely  that  the  professor  told  us  a  native 
really  would  understand  us !  At  his  request,  I 
put  some  little  German  songs  into  English,  which 
he  published  as  sheet-music,  with  my  name.  To 
hear  my  words  sung  quite  gave  me  the  feeling  of 
a  successful  translator.  The  professor  had  his 
own  distinctive  name  for  each  of  his  pupils.  Eliza 
was  "  Naivete*,"  from  her  artless  manners ;  and 
me  he  called  "  Etheria,"  probably  on  account  of 
my  star-gazing  and  verse-writing  habits.  Cer 
tainly  there  was  never  anything  ethereal  in  my 
visible  presence. 

A  botany  class  was  formed  in  town  by  a  lit 
erary  lady  who  was  preparing  a  school  text-book 
on  the  subject,  and  Eliza  and  I  joined  that  also. 
The  most  I  recall  about  that  is  the  delightful 
flower-hunting  rambles  we  took  together.  The 
Linnataii  system,  then  in  use,  did  not  give  us  a 
very  satisfactory  key  to  the  science.  But  we 
made  the  acquaintance  of  hitherto  unfamiliar  wild 
flowers  that  grew  around  us,  and  that  was  the 
opening  to  us  of  another  door  towards  the  Beau 
tiful. 

Our  minister  offered  to  instruct  the  young 
people  of  his  parish  in  ethics,  and  my  sister 
Emilie  and  myself  were  among  his  pupils.  We 
came  to  regard  Wayland's  "Moral  Science"  (our 
text-book)  as  most  interesting  reading,  and  it 
furnished  us  with  many  subjects  for  thought  and 
for  social  discussion. 


READING  AND  STUDYING.  24S 

Carlyle's  "  Hero- Worship  "  brought  us  a  start 
ling  and  keen  enjoyment.  It  was  lent  me  by  a 
Dartmouth  College  student,  the  brother  of  one  of 
my  room-mates,  soon  after  it  was  first  published 
in  this  country.  The  young  man  did  not  seem  to 
know  exactly  what  to  think  of  it,  and  wanted 
another  reader's  opinion.  Few  persons  could 
have  welcomed  those  early  writings  of  Carlyle 
more  enthusiastically  than  some  of  us  working- 
girls  did.  The  very  ruggedness  of  the  sentences 
had  a  fascination  for  us,  like  that  of  climbing 
over  loose  bowlders  in  a  mountain  scramble  to 
get  sight  of  a  wonderful  landscape. 

My  room-mate,  the  student's  sister,  was  the 
possessor  of  an  electrifying  new  poem,  —  "  Fes- 
tus," — that  we  sat  up  nights  to  read.  It  does 
not  seem  as  if  it  could  be  more  than  forty  years 
since  Sarah  and  I  looked  up  into  each  other's 
face  from  the  page  as  the  lamplight  grew  dim, 
and  said,  quoting  from  the  poem,  — 

11  Who  can  mistake  great  thoughts  ?  " 

She  gave  me  the  volume  afterwards,  when  we  went 
West  together,  and  I  have  it  still.  Its  questions 
and  conjectures  were  like  a  glimpse  into  the  chaos 
of  our  own  dimly  developing  inner  life.  The 
fascination  of  "  Festus "  was  that  of  wonder, 
doubt,  and  dissent,  with  great  outbursts  of  an 
overmastering  faith  sweeping  over  our  minds  as 


244  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

we  read.  Some  of  our  friends  thought  it  not 
quite  safe  reading ;  but  we  remember  it  as  one  of 
the  inspirations  of  our  workaday  youth. 

We  read  books,  also,  that  bore  directly  upon 
the  condition  of  humanity  in  our  time.  "The 
Glory  and  Shame  of  England  "  was  one  of  them, 
and  it  stirred  us  with  a  wonderful  and  painful 
interest. 

We  followed  travelers  and  explorers,  —  Layard 
to  Nineveh,  and  Stephens  to  Yucatan.  And  we 
were  as  fond  of  good  story-books  as  any  girls  that 
live  in  these  days  of  overflowing  libraries.  One 
book,  a  character  -  picture  from  history,  had  a 
wide  popularity  in  those  days.  It  is  a  pity  that 
it  should  be  unfamiliar  to  modern  girlhood, — 
Ware's  "Zenobia."  The  Queen  of  Palmyra 
walked  among  us,  and  held  a  lofty  place  among 
our  ideals  of  heroic  womanhood,  never  yet  oblit 
erated  from  admiring  remembrance. 

We  had  the  delight  of  reading  Frederika  Bre 
nner's  "  Home  "  and  "  Neighbors  "  when  they  were 
fresh  from  the  fountains  of  her  own  heart ;  and 
some  of  us  must  not  be  blamed  for  feeling  as  if 
no  tales  of  domestic  life  half  so  charming  have 
been  written  since.  Perhaps  it  is  partly  because 
the  home-life  of  Sweden  is  in  itself  so  delight 
fully  unique. 

We  read  George  Sorrow's  "  Bible  in  Spain," 
and  wandered  with  him  among  the  gypsies  to  whom 


READING  AND  STUDYING.  245 

he  seemed  to  belong.  I  have  never  forgotten  a 
verse  that  this  strange  traveler  picked  up  some 
where  among  the  Zincali :  — 

"  I  '11  joyfully  labor,  both  night  and  day, 

To  aid  ray  unfortunate  brothers  ; 
As  a  laundress  tans  her  own  face  in  the  ray 
To  cleanse  the  garments  of  others." 

It  suggested  a  somewhat  similar  verse  to  my 
own  mind.  Why  should  not  our  washerwoman's 
work  have  its  touch  of  poetry  also  ?  — 

This  thought  flashed  by  like  a  ray  of  light 
That  brightened  my  homely  labor:  — 

The  water  is  making  my  own  hands  white 
While  I  wash  the  robes  of  my  neighbor. 

And  how  delighted  we  were  with  Mrs.  Kirk- 
land's  "A  New  Home:  Who  '11  Follow  ?"  the 
first  real  Western  book  I  ever  read.  Its  genuine 
pioneer-flavor  was  delicious.  And,  moreover,  it 
was  a  prophecy  to  Sarah,  Emilie,  and  myself,  who 
were  one  day  thankful  enough  to  find  an  "  Aunty 
Parshall's  dish-kettle  "  in  a  cabin  on  an  Illinois 
prairie. 

So  the  pleasantly  occupied  years  slipped  on, 
I  still  nursing  my  purpose  of  a  more  systematic 
coarse  of  study,  though  I  saw  no  near  possibility 
of  its  fulfillment.  It  came  in  an  unexpected  way, 
as  almost  everything  worth  having  does  come.  I 
could  never  have  dreamed  that  I  was  going  to 
meet  my  opportunity  nearly  or  quite  a  thousand 
miles  away,  on  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi.  And 


246          A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

yet,  with  that  strange,  delightful  consciousness  of 
growth  into  a  comprehension  of  one's  self  and  of 
one's  life  that  most  young  persons  must  occasion 
ally  have  experienced,  I  often  vaguely  felt  new 
heavens  opening  for  my  half -fledged  wings  to  try 
themselves  in.  Things  about  me  were  good  and 
enjoyable,  but  I  could  not  quite  rest  in  them; 
there  was  more  for  me  to  be,  to  know,  and  to 
do.  I  felt  almost  surer  of  the  future  than  of  the 
present. 

If  the  dream  of  the  millennium  which  brightened 
the  somewhat  sombre  close  of  the  first  ten  years 
of  my  life  had  faded  a  little,  out  of  the  very 
roughnesses  of  the  intervening  road  light  had 
been  kindled  which  made  the  end  of  the  second 
ten  years  glow  with  enthusiastic  hope.  I  had 
early  been  saved  from  a  great  mistake ;  for  it  is 
the  greatest  of  mistakes  to  begin  life  with  the  ex 
pectation  that  it  is  going  to  be  easy,  or  with  the 
wish  to  have  it  so.  What  a  world  it  would  be,  if 
there  were  no  hills  to  climb  !  Our  powers  were 
given  us  that  we  might  conquer  obstacles,  and 
clear  obstructions  from  the  overgrown  human 
path,  and  grow  strong  by  striving,  led  onward 
always  by  an  Invisible  Guide. 

Life  to  me,  as  I  looked  forward,  was  a  bright 
blank  of  mystery,  like  the  broad  Western  tracts  of 
our  continent,  which  in  the  atlases  of  those  days 
bore  the  title  of  "  Unexplored  Regions."  It  was 
to  be  penetrated,  struggled  through ;  and  its  diffi- 


READING  AND  STUDYING.  247 

culties  were  not  greatly  dreaded,  for  I  had  not 
lost 

41  The  dream  of  Doing,  — 
The  first  bound  in  the  pursuing." 

I  knew  that  there  was  no  joy  like  the  joy  of 
pressing  forward. 


XII. 

FROM   THE  MERRIMACK  TO  THE  MISSISSIPPI. 

THE  years  between  1835  and  1845,  which 
nearly  cover  the  time  I  lived  at  Lowell,  seem  to 
mtj,  as  I  look  back  at  them,  singularly  interesting 
y&fcrs.  People  were  guessing  and  experimenting 
and  wondering  and  prophesying  about  a  great 
many  things,  —  about  almost  everything.  We 
were  only  beginning  to  get  accustomed  to  steam 
boats  and  railroads.  To  travel  bv  either  was 

*/ 

scarcely  less  an  adventure  to  us  younger  ones 
than  going  up  in  a  balloon. 

Phrenology  was  much  talked  about ;  and  nu 
merous  "  professors  "  of  it  came  around  lecturing, 
and  examining  heads,  and  making  charts  of  cra 
nial  "  bumps."  This  was  profitable  business  to 
them  for  a  while,  as  almost  everybody  who  in 
vested  in  a  "  character "  received  a  good  one ; 
while  many  very  commonplace  people  were  flat 
tered  into  the  belief  that  they  were  geniuses,  or 
might  be  if  they  chose. 

Mesmerism  followed  close  upon  phrenology; 
and  this  too  had  its  lecturers,  who  entertained  the 
stronger  portion  of  their  audiences  by  showing 


FROM  MERRIMACK  TO  MISSISSIPPI.    249 

them  how  easily  the  weaker  ones  could  be  brought 
under  an  uncanny  influence. 

The  most  widespread  delusion  of  the  time  was 
Millerism.  A  great  many  persons  —  and  yet  not 
so  many  that  I  knew  even  one  of  them  —  believed 
that  the  end  of  the  world  was  coming  in  the  year 
1842 ;  though  the  date  was  postponed  from  year 
to  year,  as  the  prophesy  failed  of  fulfillment. 
The  idea  in  itself  was  almost  too  serious  to  be 
jested  about ;  and  yet  its  advocates  made  it  so 
literal  a  matter  that  it  did  look  very  ridiculous  to 
unbelievers. 

An  irreverent  little  workmate  of  mine  in  the 
spinning-room  made  a  string  of  jingling  couplets 
about  it,  like  this :  — 

14  Oh  dear!  oh  dear!  what  shall  we  do 
In  eighteen  hundred  and  forty-two  ? 

"  Oh  dear !  oh  dear !  where  shall  we  be 
In  eighteen  hundred  and  forty-three  ? 

"  Oh  dear !  oh  dear !  we  shall  be  no  more 
In  eighteen  hundred  and  forty-four. 

"  Oh  dear !  oh  dear !  we  sha'  n't  be  alive 
In  eighteen  hundred  and  forty-five." 

I  thought  it  audacious  in  her,  since  surely  she 
and  all  of  us  were  aware  that  the  world  would 
come  to  an  end  some  time,  in  some  way,  for  every 
one  of  us.  I  said  to  myself  that  I  could  not  have 
w  made  up "  those  rhymes.  Nevertheless  we  all 
laughed  at  them  together. 


250          A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

A  comet  appeared  at  about  the  time  of  the 
Miller  excitement,  and  also  a  very  unusual  illumi 
nation  of  sky  and  earth  by  the  Aurora  Borealis. 
This  latter  occurred  in  midwinter.  The  whole 
Leavens  were  of  a  deep  rose-color  —  almost  crimson 
—  reddest  at  the  zenith,  and  paling  as  it  radi 
ated  towards  the  horizon.  The  snow  was  fresh 
on  the  ground,  and  that,  too,  was  of  a  brilliant 
red.  Cold  as  it  was,  windows  were  thrown  up  all 
around  us  for  people  to  look  out  at  the  wonder 
ful  sight.  I  was  gazing  with  the  rest,  and  listen 
ing  to  exclamations  of  wonder  from  surrounding 
unseen  beholders,  when  somebody  shouted  from 
far  down  the  opposite  block  of  buildings,  with 
startling  effect,  — 

"  You  can't  stand  the  fire 
In  that  great  day !  " 

It  was  the  refrain  of  a  Millerite  hymn.  The 
Millerites  believed  that  these  signs  in  the  sky  were 
omens  of  the  approaching  catastrophe.  And  it 
was  said  that  some  of  them  did  go  so  far  as  to  put 
on  white  "ascension  robes,"  and  assemble  some 
where,  to  wait  for  the  expected  hour. 

When  daguerreotypes  were  first  made,  when  we 
heard  that  the  sun  was  going  to  take  everybody's 
portrait,  it  seemed  almost  too  great  a  marvel  to 
be  believed.  While  it  was  yet  only  a  rumor  that 
such  a  thing  had  been  done,  somewhere  across 
the  sea,  I  saw  some  verses  about  it  which  im- 


FROM  MERRIMACK  TO  MISSISSIPPI.    251 

pressed  me  much,  but  which  I  only  partly  remem 
ber.     These  were  the  opening  lines  :  — 

"  Oh,  what  if  thus  our  evil  deeds 

Are  mirrored  on  the  sky, 
And  every  line  of  our  wild  lives 
Daguerreotyped  on  high  I  " 

My  sister  and  I  considered  it  quite  an  event 
when  we  went  to  have  our  daguerreotypes  taken, 
just  before  we  started  for  the  West.  The  photo 
graph  was  still  an  undeveloped  mystery. 

Things  that  looked  miraculous  then  are  com 
monplace  now.  It  almost  seems  as  if  the  children 
of  to-day  could  not  have  so  good  a  time  as  we  did, 
science  has  left  them  so  little  to  wonder  about. 
Our  attitude  —  the  attitude  of  the  time  —  was 
that  of  children  climbing  their  dooryard  fence, 
to  watch  an  approaching  show,  and  to  conjecture 
what  more  remarkable  spectacle  could  be  follow 
ing  behind.  New  England  had  kept  to  the  quiet 
old-fashioned  ways  of  living  for  the  first  fifty 
years  of  the  Republic.  Now  all  was  expectancy. 
Changes  were  coming.  Things  were  going  to 
happen,  nobody  could  guess  what. 

Things  have  happened,  and  changes  have  come. 
The  New  England  that  has  grown  up  with  the 
last  fifty  years  is  not  at  all  the  New  England  that 
our  fathers  knew.  We  speak  of  having  been 
reared  under  Puritanic  influences,  but  the  tradi 
tionary  sternness  of  these  was  much  modified,  even 
in  the  childhood  of  the  generation  to  which  I 


252  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

belong.  We  did  not  recognize  the  grim  features 
of  the  Puritan,  as  we  used  sometimes  to  read 
about  him,  in  our  parents  or  relatives.  And  yet 
we  were  children  of  the  Puritans. 

Everything  that  was  new  or  strange  came  to  us 
at  Lowell.  And  most  of  the  remarkable  people 
of  the  day  came  also.  How  strange  it  was  to  see 
Mar  Yohanan,  a  Nestorian  bishop,  walking  through 
the  factory  yard  in  his  Oriental  robes  with  more 
than  a  child's  wonder  on  his  face  at  the  stir  and 
rush  of  everything !  He  came  from  Boston  by 
railroad,  and  was  present  at  a  wedding  at  the 
clergyman's  house  where  he  visited.  The  rapid 
ity  of  the  simple  Congregational  service  aston 
ished  him. 

"  What  ?   marry  on  railroad,  too  ?  "  he  asked. 

Dickens  visited  Lowell  while  I  was  there,  and 
gave  a  good  report  of  what  he  saw  in  his  "  Amer 
ican  Notes."  We  did  not  leave  our  work  even  to 
gaze  at  distinguished  strangers,  so  I  missed  see 
ing  him.  But  a  friend  who  did  see  him  sketched 
his  profile  in  pencil  for  me  as  he  passed  along  the 
street.  He  was  then  best  known  as  "  Boz." 

Many  of  the  prominent  men  of  the  country 
were  in  the  habit  of  giving  Lyceum  lectures,  and 
the  Lyceum  lecture  of  that  day  was  a  means  of 
education,  conveying  to  the  people  the  results  of 
study  and  thought  through  the  best  minds.  At 
Lowell  it  was  more  patronized  by  the  mill-people 
than  any  mere  entertainment.  We  had  John 


FROM  MERRIMACK  TO  MISSISSIPPI.    253 

Quincy  Adams,  Edward  Everett,  John  Pierpont, 
and  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  among  our  lecturers, 
with  numerous  distinguished  clergymen  of  the 
day.  Daniel  Webster  was  once  in  the  city,  trying 
a  law  case.  Some  of  my  girl  friends  went  to  the 
court-room  and  had  a  glimpse  of  his  face,  but  I 
just  missed  seeing  him. 

Sometimes  an  Englishman,  who  was  studying 
our  national  institutions,  would  call  and  have  a 
friendly  talk  with  us  at  our  work.  Sometimes  it 
was  a  traveler  from  the  South,  who  was  interested 
in  the  same  way.  I  remember  one,  an  editor  and 
author  from  Georgia,  who  visited  our  Improve 
ment  Circle,  and  who  sent  some  of  us  "  Offering  " 
contributors  copies  of  his  books  after  he  had  re 
turned  home. 

One  of  the  pleasantest  visitors  that  I  recall  was 
a  young  Quaker  woman  from  Philadelphia,  a 
school-teacher,  who  came  to  see  for  herself  how 
the  Lowell  girls  lived,  of  whom  she  had  heard 
so  much.  A  deep,  quiet  friendship  grew  up  be 
tween  us  two.  I  wrote  some  verses  for  her  when 
we  parted,  and  she  sent  me  one  cordial,  charm 
ingly-written  letter.  In  a  few  weeks  I  answered 
it ;  but  the  response  was  from  another  person,  a 
near  relative.  She  was  dead.  But  she  still  re 
mains  a  real  person  to  me  ;  I  often  recall  her  fea 
tures  and  the  tones  of  her  voice.  It  was  as  if  a 
beautiful  spirit  from  an  invisible  world  had  slipped 
in  among  us,  and  quickly  gone  back  again. 


254  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

It  was  an  event  to  me,  and  to  my  immediate 
friends  among  the  mill-girls,  when  the  poet  Whit- 
tier  came  to  Lowell  to  stay  awhile.  I  had  not 
supposed  that  it  would  be  my  good  fortune  to 
meet  him ;  but  one  evening  when  we  assembled 
at  the  "  Improvement  Circle,"  he  was  there.  The 
"  Offering  "  editor,  Miss  Harriet  Farley,  had  lived 
in  the  same  town  with  him,  and  they  were  old 
acquaintances. 

It  was  a  warm,  summer  evening.  I  recall  the 
circumstance  that  a  number  of  us  wore  white 
dresses ;  also  that  I  shrank  back  into  myself,  and 
felt  much  abashed  when  some  verses  of  mine  were 
read  by  the  editor,  —  with  others  so  much  better, 
however,  that  mine  received  little  attention.  I 
felt  relieved ;  for  I  was  not  fond  of  having  my 
productions  spoken  of,  for  good  or  ill.  He  com 
mended  quite  highly  a  poem  by  another  member 
of  the  Circle,  on  "  Pentucket,"  the  Indian  name 
of  his  native  place,  Haverhill.  My  subject  was 
"  Sabbath  Bells."  As  the  Friends  do  not  believe 
in  "  steeple-houses,"  I  was  at  liberty  to  imagine 
that  it  was  my  theme,  and  not  my  verses,  that 
failed  to  interest  him. 

Various  other  papers  were  read,  —  stories, 
sketches,  etc.,  and  after  the  reading  there  was  a 
little  conversation,  when  he  came  and  spoke  to 
me.  I  let  the  friend  who  had  accompanied  me 
do  my  part  of  the  talking,  for  I  was  too  much 
overawed  by  the  presence  of  one  whose  poetry  I 


FROM  MERRIMACK  TO  MISSISSIPPI.    255 

had  so  long  admired,  to  say  a  great  deal.  But 
from  that  evening  we  knew  each  other  as  friends ; 
and,  of  course,  the  day  has  a  white  mark  among 
the  memories  of  my  Lowell  life. 

Mr.  Whittier's  visit  to  Lowell  had  some  politi 
cal  bearing  upon  the  antislavery  cause.  It  is 
strange  now  to  think  that  a  cause  like  that  should 
not  always  have  been  our  country's  cause,  —  our 
country,  —  our  own  free  nation !  But  antislavery 
sentiments  were  then  regarded  by  many  as  trai 
torous  heresies ;  and  those  who  held  them  did  not 
expect  to  win  popularity.  If  the  vote  of  the  mill- 
girls  had  been  taken,  it  would  doubtless  have  been 
unanimous  on  the  antislavery  side.  But  those 
were  also  the  days  when  a  woman  was  not  ex 
pected  to  give,  or  even  to  have,  an  opinion  on 
subjects  of  public  interest. 

Occasionally  a  young  girl  was  attracted  to  the 
Lowell  mills  through  her  own  idealization  of  the 
life  there,  as  it  had  been  reported  to  her.  Mar 
garet  Foley,  who  afterwards  became  distinguished 
as  a  sculptor,  was  one  of  these.  She  did  not  re 
main  many  months  at  her  occupation,  —  which  I 
think  was  weaving,  —  soon  changing  it  for  that  of 
teaching  and  studying  art.  Those  who  came  as 
she  did  were  usually  disappointed.  Instead  of  an 
Arcadia,  they  found  a  place  of  matter-of-fact  toil, 
filled  with  a  company  of  industrious,  wide-awake 
girls,  who  were  faithfully  improving  their  oppor 
tunities,  while  looking  through  them  into  avenues 


256  A  NEW  ENGLAND   GIRLHOOD. 

toward  profit  and  usefulness,  more  desirable  yet. 
It  has  always  been  the  way  of  the  steady-minded 
New  Englander  to  accept  the  present  situation,  — < 
but  to  accept  it  without  boundaries,  taking  in  also 
the  larger  prospects  —  all  the  heavens  above  and 
the  earth  beneath  —  towards  which  it  opens. 

The  movement  of  New  England  girls  toward 
Lowell  was  only  an  impulse  of  a  larger  move 
ment  which  about  that  time  sent  so  many  people 
from  the  Eastern  States  into  the  West.  The 
needs  of  the  West  were  constantly  kept  before  us 
in  the  churches.  We  were  asked  for  contribu 
tions  for  Home  Missions,  which  were  willingly 
given  ;  and  some  of  us  were  appointed  collectors 
of  funds  for  the  education  of  indigent  young  men 
to  become  Western  Home  Missionary  preachers. 
There  was  something  almost  pathetic  in  the  read 
iness  with  which  this  was  done  by  young  girls 
who  were  longing  to  fit  themselves  for  teachers, 
but  had  not  the  means.  Many  a  girl  at  Lowell 
was  working  to  send  her  brother  to  college,  who 
had  far  more  talent  and  character  than  he  ;  but 
a  man  could  preach,  and  it  was  not  "  orthodox  " 
to  think  that  a  woman  could.  And  in  her  devo 
tion  to  him,  and  her  zeal  for  the  spread  of  Chris 
tian  truth,  she  was  hardly  conscious  of  her  own 
sacrifice.  Yet  our  ministers  appreciated  the  in 
telligence  and  piety  of  their  feminine  parishion 
ers.  An  agent  who  came  from  the  West  for 
school-teachers  was  told  by  our  own  pastor  that 


FROM  MERRIMACK  TO  MISSISSIPPI.    257 

five  hundred  could  easily  be  furnished  from 
among  Lowell  mill-girls.  Many  did  go,  and  they 
made  another  New  England  in  some  of  our  West 
ern  States. 

The  missionary  spirit  was  strong  among  my 
companions.  I  never  thought  that  I  had  the 
right  qualifications  for  that  work ;  but  I  had  a 
desire  to  see  the  prairies  and  the  great  rivers  of 
the  West,  and  to  get  a  taste  of  free,  primitive  life 
among  pioneers. 

Before  the  year  1845,  several  of  my  friends  had 
emigrated  as  teachers  or  missionaries.  One  of 
the  editors  of  the  "  Operatives'  Magazine "  had 
gone  to  Arkansas  with  a  mill-girl  who  had  worked 
beside  her  among  the  looms.  They  were  at  an 
Indian  mission  —  to  the  Cherokees  and  Choctaws. 
I  seemed  to  breathe  the  air  of  that  far  South 
west,  in  a  spray  of  yellow  jessamine  which  one  of 
those  friends  sent  me,  pressed  in  a  letter.  Peo 
ple  wrote  very  long  letters  then,  in  those  days  of 
twenty-five  cent  postage. 

Rachel,  at  whose  house  our  German  class  had 
been  accustomed  to  meet,  had  also  left  her  work, 
and  had  gone  to  western  Virginia  to  take  charge 
of  a  school.  She  wrote  alluring  letters  to  us 
about  the  scenery  there  ;  it  was  in  the  neighbor 
hood  of  the  Natural  Bridge. 

My  friend  Angeline,  with  whom  I  used  to  read 
M  Paradise  Lost,"  went  to  Ohio  as  a  teacher,  and 
returned  the  following  year,  —  for  a  very  brief 


258  A  NEW  ENGLAND   GIRLHOOD. 

visit,  however,  —  and  with  a  husband.  Another 
acquaintance  was  in  Wisconsin,  teaching  a  pio 
neer  school.  Eliza,  my  intimate  companion,  was 
about  to  be  married  to  a  clergyman.  She,  too, 
eventually  settled  at  the  West. 

The  event  which  brought  most  change  into  my 
own  life  was  the  marriage  of  my  sister  Emilie. 
It  involved  the  breaking  up  of  our  own  little 
family,  of  which  she  had  really  been  the  "  house- 
band,"  the  return  of  my  mother  to  my  sisters  at 
Beverly,  and  my  going  to  board  among  strangers, 
as  other  girls  did.  I  found  excellent  quarters  and 
kind  friends,  but  the  home-life  was  ended. 

My  sister's  husband  was  a  grammar  school 
master  in  the  city,  and  their  cottage,  a  mile  or 
more  out,  among  the  open  fields,  was  my  frequent 
refuge  from  homesickness  and  the  general  clatter. 
Our  partial  separation  showed  me  how  much  I 
had  depended  upon  my  sister.  I  had  really  lefc 
her  do  most  of  my  thinking  for  me.  Henceforth 
I  was  to  trust  to  my  own  resources.  I  was  no 
longer  the  "  little  sister  "  who  could  ask  what  to  do, 
and  do  as  she  was  told.  It  often  brought  me  a  feel 
ing  of  dismay  to  find  that  I  must  make  up  my 
own  mind  about  things  small  and  great.  And 
yet  I  was  naturally  self-reliant.  I  am  not  sure 
but  self-reliance  and  dependence  really  belong 
together.  They  do  seem  to  meet  in  the  same  char 
acter,  like  other  extremes. 

The  health  of  Emilie's  husband  failing,  after 


FROM  MERRIMACK  TO  MISSISSIPPI.    259 

a  year  or  two,  it  was  evident  that  he  must  change 
his  employment  and  his  residence.  He  decided  to 
go  with  his  brother  to  Illinois  and  settle  upon  a 
prairie  farm.  Of  course  his  wife  and  baby  boy 
must  go  too,  and  with  the  announcement  of  this 
decision  came  an  invitation  to  me  to  accompany 
them.  I  had  no  difficulty  as  to  my  response.  It 
was  just  what  I  wanted  to  do.  I  was  to  teach  a 
district  school ;  but  what  there  was  beyond  that,  I 
could  not  guess.  I  liked  to  feel  that  it  was  all  as 
vague  as  the  unexplored  regions  to  which  I  was 
going.  My  friend  and  room-mate  Sarah,  who 
was  preparing  herself  to  be  a  teacher,  was  invited 
to  join  us,  and  she  was  glad  to  do  so.  It  was  all 
quickly  settled,  and  early  in  the  spring  of  1846 
we  left  New  England. 

When  I  came  to  a  realization  of  what  I  was 
leaving,  when  good-bys  had  to  be  said,  I  began 
to  feel  very  sorrowful,  and  to  wish  it  was  not  to 
be.  I  said  positively  that  I  should  soon  return, 
but  underneath  my  protestations  I  was  afraid  that 
I  might  not.  The  West  was  very  far  off  then,  — 
a  full  week's  journey.  It  would  be  hard  getting 
back.  Those  I  loved  might  die  ;  I  might  die 
myself.  These  thoughts  passed  through  my  mind, 
though  not  through  my  lips.  My  eyes  would 
sometimes  tell  the  story,  however,  and  I  fancy 
that  my  tearful  farewells  must  have  seemed  ridic 
ulous  to  many  of  my  friends,  since  my  going  was 
of  my  own  cheerful  choice. 


260          A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

The  last  meeting  of  the  Improvement  Circle 
before  I  went  away  was  a  kind  of  surprise  party 
to  me.  Several  original  poems  were  read,  ad 
dressed  to  me  personally.  I  am  afraid  that  I  re 
ceived  it  all  in  a  dumb,  undemonstrative  way,  for 
I  could  not  make  it  seem  real  that  I  was  the  per 
son  meant,  or  that  I  was  going  away  at  all.  But 
I  treasured  those  tributes  of  sympathy  after 
wards,  under  the  strange,  spacious  skies  where  I 
sometimes  felt  so  alone. 

The  editors  of  the  "  Offering "  left  with  me  a 
testimonial  in  money,  accompanied  by  an  acknow 
ledgment  of  my  contributions  during  several 
years;  but  I  had  never  dreamed  of  pay,  and 
did  not  know  how  to  look  upon  it  so.  I  took  it 
gratefully,  however,  as  a  token  of  their  apprecia 
tion,  and  twenty  dollars  was  no  small  help  to 
ward  my  outfit.  Friends  brought  me  books  and 
other  keepsakes.  Our  minister  gave  me  D'Aubi- 
gne's  "  History  of  the  Keformation  "  as  a  parting 
gift.  It  was  quite  a  circumstance  to  be  "going 
out  West." 

The  exhilaration  of  starting  off  on  one's  first 
long  journey,  young,  ignorant,  buoyant,  expec 
tant,  is  unlike  anything  else,  unless  it  be  youth 
itself,  the  real  beginning  of  the  real  journey  — 
life.  Annoyances  are  overlooked.  Everything 
seems  romantic  and  dream-like. 

We  went  by  a  southerly  route,  on  account  of 
starting  so  early  in  the  season ,  there  was  snow 


FROM  MERRIMACK  TO  MISSISSIPPI.    261 

on  the  ground  the  day  we  left.  On  the  second 
day,  after  a  moonlight  night  on  Long  Island 
Sound,  we  were  floating  down  the  Delaware,  be 
tween  shores  misty-green  with  budding  willows ; 
then  (most  of  us  seasick,  though  I  was  not)  we 
were  tossed  across  Chesapeake  Bay ;  then  there 
was  a  railway  ride  to  the  Alleghanies,  which  gave 
us  glimpses  of  the  Potomac  and  the  Blue  Ridge, 
and  of  the  lovely  scenery  around  Harper's  Ferry ; 
then  followed  a  stifling  night  on  the  mountains, 
when  we  were  packed  like  sardines  into  a  stage 
coach,  without  a  breath  of  air,  and  the  passengers 
were  cross  because  the  baby  cried,  while  I  felt  in 
wardly  glad  that  one  voice  among  us  could  give 
utterance  to  the  general  discomfort,  my  own  part 
of  which  I  could  have  borne  if  I  could  only  have 
had  an  occasional  peep  out  at  the  mountain-side. 
After  that  it  was  all  river-voyaging,  down  the 
Monongahela  into  the  Ohio,  and  up  the  Missis 
sippi. 

As  I  recall  this  part  of  it,  I  should  say  that  it 
was  the  perfection  of  a  Western  journey  to  travel 
in  early  spring  by  an  Ohio  River  steamboat,  — 
such  steamboats  as  they  had  forty  years  ago, 
comfortable,  roomy,  and  well  ordered.  The  com 
pany  was  social,  as  Western  emigrants  were  wont 
to  be  when  there  were  not  so  very  many  of  them, 
and  the  shores  of  the  river,  then  only  thinly 
populated,  were  a  constantly  shifting  panorama 
of  wilderness  beauty.  I  have  never  since  seen  a 


262  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

combination  of  spring  colors  so  delicate  as  those 
shown  by  the  uplifted  forests  of  the  Ohio,  where 
the  pure  white  of  the  dogwood  and  the  peach- 
bloom  tint  of  the  red-bud  (Judas  tree)  were  con 
trasted  with  soft  shades  of  green,  almost  endlessly 
various,  on  the  unfolding  leafage. 

Contrasted  with  the  Ohio,  the  Mississippi  had 
nothing  to  show  but  breadth  and  muddiness.  More 
than  one  of  us  glanced  at  its  level  shores,  edged 
with  a  monotonous  growth  of  cottonwood,  and 
sent  back  a  sigh  towards  the  banks  of  the  Mer- 
rimack.  But  we  did  not  let  each  other  know  what 
the  sigh  was  for,  until  long  after.  The  breaking- 
up  of  our  little  company  when  the  steamboat 
landed  at  Saint  Louis  was  like  the  ending  of  a 
pleasant  dream.  We  had  to  wake  up  to  the  fact 
that  by  striking  due  east  thirty  or  forty  miles 
across  that  monotonous  greenness,  we  should 
reach  our  destination,  and  must  accept  whatever 
we  should  find  there,  with  such  grace  as  we  could. 

What  we  did  find,  and  did  not  find,  there  is  not 
room  fully  to  relate  here.  Ours  was  at  first  the 
roughest  kind  of  pioneering  experience ;  such  as 
persons  brought  up  in  our  well-to-do  New  England 
could  not  be  in  the  least  prepared  for,  though 
they  might  imagine  they  were,  as  we  did.  We 
were  dropped  down  finally  upon  a  vast  green 
expanse,  extending  hundreds  of  miles  north  and 
south  through  the  State  of  Illinois,  then  known 
as  Looking-Glass  Prairie.  The  nearest  cabin  to 


FROM  MERRIMACK  TO  MISSISSIPPI.    263 

our  own  was  about  a  mile  away,  and  so  small  that 
at  that  distance  it  looked  like  a  shingle  set  up 
endwise  in  the  grass.  Nothing  else  was  in  sight, 
not  even  a  tree,  although  we  could  see  miles  and 
miles  in  every  direction.  There  were  only  the 
hollow  blue  heavens  above  us  and  the  level  green 
prairie  around  us,  —  an  immensity  of  intense 
loneliness.  We  seldom  saw  a  cloud  in  the  sky, 
and  never  a  pebble  beneath  our  feet.  If  we  could 
have  picked  up  the  commonest  one,  we  should 
have  treasured  it  like  a  diamond.  Nothing  in 
nature  now  seemed  so  beautiful  to  us  as  rocks. 
We  had  never  dreamed  of  a  world  without  them ; 
it  seemed  like  living  on  a  floor  without  walls  or 
foundations. 

After  a  while  we  became  accustomed  to  the  vast 
sameness,  and  even  liked  it  in  a  lukewarm  way. 
And  there  were  times  when  it  filled  us  with  emo 
tions  of  grandeur.  Boundlessness  in  itself  is  im 
pressive  ;  it  makes  us  feel  our  littleness,  and  yet 
releases  us  from  that  littleness. 

The  grass  was  always  astir,  blowing  one  way, 
like  the  waves  of  the  sea ;  for  there  was  a  steady, 
almost  an  unvarying  wind  from  the  south.  It 
was  like  the  sea,  and  yet  even  more  wonderful, 
for  it  was  a  sea  of  living  and  growing  things. 
The  Spirit  of  God  was  moving  upon  the  face  of 
the  earth,  and  breathing  everything  into  life.  We 
were  but  specks  on  the  great  landscape.  But  God 
was  above  it  all,  penetrating  it  and  us  with  his 


264  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

infinite  warmth.  The  distance  from  human  be, 
ings  made  the  Invisible  One  seem  so  near !  Only 
Nature  and  ourselves  now,  face  to  face  with  Him ! 

We  could  scarcely  have  found  in  all  the  world 
a  more  complete  contrast  to  the  moving  crowds 
and  the  whir  and  dust  of  the  City  of  Spindles, 
than  this  unpeopled,  silent  prairie. 

For  myself,  I  know  that  I  was  sent  in  upon  my 
own  thoughts  deeper  than  I  had  ever  been  before. 
I  began  to  question  things  which  I  had  never 
before  doubted.  I  must  have  reality.  Nothing 
but  transparent  truth  would  bear  the  test  of  this 
great,  solitary  stillness.  As  the  prairies  lay  open 
to  the  sunshine,  my  heart  seemed  to  lie  bare  be 
neath  the  piercing  eye  of  the  All-Seeing.  I  may 
say  with  gratitude  that  only  some  superficial  rub 
bish  of  acquired  opinion  was  scorched  away  by 
this  searching  light  and  heat.  The  faith  of  my 
childhood,  in  its  simplest  elements,  took  firmer 
root  as  it  found  broader  room  to  grow  in. 

I  had  many  peculiar  experiences  in  my  log- 
cabin  school-teaching,  which  was  seldom  more  than 
three  months  in  one  place.  Only  once  I  found 
myself  among  New  England  people,  and  there  I 
remained  a  year  or  more,  fairly  reveling  in  a  re 
turn  to  the  familiar,  thrifty  ways  that  seem  to 
me  to  shape  a  more  comfortable  style  of  living 
than  any  under  the  sun.  "  Vine  Lodge  "  (so  we 
named  the  cottage  for  its  embowering  honey 
suckles),  and  its  warm-hearted  inmates,  with  my 


FROM  MERRIMACK  TO  MISSISSIPPI.    265 

little  white  schoolhouse  under  the  oaks,  make  one 
of  the  brightest  of  my  Western  memories. 

Only  a  mile  or  two  away  from  this  pretty  retreat 
there  was  an  edifice  towards  which  I  often  looked 
with  longing.  It  was  a  seminary  for  young  wo 
men,  probably  at  that  time  one  of  the  best  in  the 
country,  certainly  second  to  none  in  the  West. 
It  had  originated  about  a  dozen  years  before, 
in  a  plan  for  Western  collegiate  education,  organ 
ized  by  Yale  College  graduates.  It  was  thought 
that  women  as  well  as  men  ought  to  share  in  the 
benefits  of  such  a  plan,  and  the  result  was  Monti- 
cello  Seminary.  The  good  man  whose  wealth  had 
made  the  institution  a  possibility  lived  in  the 
neighborhood.  Its  trustees  were  of  the  best  type 
of  pioneer  manhood,  and  its  pupils  came  from  all 
parts  of  the  South  and  West. 

Its  Principal  —  I  wonder  now  that  I  could  have 
lived  so  near  her  for  a  year  without  becoming  ac 
quainted  with  her,  —  but  her  high  local  reputa 
tion  as  an  intellectual  woman  inspired  me  with 
awe,  and  I  was  foolishly  diffident.  One  day,  how 
ever,  upon  the  persuasion  of  my  friends  at  Vine 
Lodge,  who  knew  my  wishes  for  a  higher  educa 
tion,  I  went  with  them  to  call  upon  her.  We 
talked  about  the  matter  which  had  been  in  my 
thoughts  so  long,  and  she  gave  me  not  only  a 
cordial  but  an  urgent  invitation  to  come  and  en 
roll  myself  as  a  student.  There  were  arrange 
ments  for  those  who  could  not  incur  the  current 


266  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

expenses,  to  meet  them  by  doing  part  of  the  do 
mestic  work,  and  of  these  I  gladly  availed  myself. 
The  stately  limestone  edifice,  standing  in  the  midst 
of  an  original  growth  of  forest-trees,  two  or  three 
miles  from  the  Mississippi  River,  became  my  home 
—  my  student-home  —  for  three  years.  The  bene 
fits  of  those  three  years  I  have  been  reaping  ever 
since,  I  trust  not  altogether  selfishly.  It  was  al 
ways  my  desire  and  my  ambition  as  a  teacher,  to 
help  my  pupils  as  my  teachers  had  helped  me. 

The  course  of  study  at  Monticello  Seminary 
was  the  broadest,  the  most  college-like,  that  I  have 
ever  known ;  and  I  have  had  experience  since  in 
several  institutions  of  the  kind.  The  study  of 
mediaeval  and  modern  history,  and  of  the  history 
of  modern  philosophy,  especially,  opened  new  vistas 
to  me.  In  these  our  Principal  was  also  our  teacher, 
and  her  method  was  to  show  us  the  tendencies  of 
thought,  to  put  our  minds  into  the  great  current 
of  human  affairs,  leaving  us  to  collect  details  as 
we  could,  then  or  afterward.  We  came  thus  to 
feel  that  these  were  life-long  studies,  as  indeed 
they  are. 

The  course  was  somewhat  elective,  but  her  ad 
vice  to  me  was,  not  to  omit  anything  because  I 
did  not  like  it.  I  had  a  natural  distaste  for 
mathematics,  and  my  recollections  of  my  struggles 
with  trigonometry  and  conic  sections  are  not  alto 
gether  those  of  a  conquering  heroine.  But  my 
teacher  told  me  that  my  mind  had  need  of  just 


FROM  MERRIMACK  TO  MISSISSIPPI.    267 

that  exact  sort  of  discipline,  and  I  think  she  was 
right. 

A  habit  of  indiscriminate,  unsystematized  read 
ing,  such  as  I  had  fallen  into,  is  entirely  foreign 
to  the  scholarly  habit  of  mind.  Attention  is  the 
secret  of  real  acquirement;  but  it  was  months 
before  I  could  command  my  own  attention,  even 
when  I  was  interested  in  the  subject  I  was  exam- 
ining.  It  seemed  as  if  all  the  pages  of  all  the 
books  I  had  ever  read  were  turning  themselves 
over  between  me  and  this  one  page  that  I  wanted 
to  understand.  I  found  that  mere  reading  does 
not  by  any  means  make  a  student. 

It  was  more  to  me  to  come  into  communication 
with  my  wise  teacher  as  a  friend  than  even  to  re 
ceive  the  wisdom  she  had  to  impart.  She  was  dig 
nified  and  reticent,  but  beneath  her  reserve,  as  is 
often  the  case,  was  a  sealed  fountain  of  sympathy, 
which  one  who  had  the  key  could  easily  unlock. 
Thinking  of  her  nobleness  of  character,  her  piety, 
her  learning,  her  power,  and  her  sweetness,  it 
seems  to  me  as  if  I  had  once  had  a  Christian 
Zenobia  or  Hypatia  for  my  teacher. 

We  speak  with  awed  tenderness  of  our  unseen 
guardian  angels,  but  have  we  not  all  had  our 
guiding  angels,  who  came  to  us  in  visible  form, 
and,  recognized  or  unknown,  kept  beside  us  on  our 
difficult  path  until  they  had  done  for  us  all  that 
they  could  ?  It  seems  to  me  as  if  one  had  suc 
ceeded  another  by  my  side  all  through  the  years, 


268  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

—  always  some  one  whose  influence  made  my  heart 
stronger  and  my  way  clearer ;  though  sometimes  it 
has  been  only  a  little  child  that  came  and  laid  its 
hand  into  my  hand  as  if  I  were  its  guide,  instead 
of  its  being  mine. 

My  dear  and  honored  Lady-Principal  was  surely 
one  of  my  strong  guiding  angels,  sent  to  meet  me 
as  I  went  to  meet  her  upon  my  life-road,  just  at 
the  point  where  I  most  needed  her.  For  the  one 
great  thing  she  gave  her  pupils,  —  scope,  —  often 
quite  left  out  of  woman's  education,  — I  especially 
thank  her.  The  true  education  is  to  go  on  for 
ever.  But  how  can  there  be  any  hopeful  going  on 
without  outlook  ?  And  having  an  infinite  outlook, 
how  can  progress  ever  cease  ?  It  was  worth  while 
for  me  to  go  to  those  Western  prairies,  if  only  for 
the  broader  mental  view  that  opened  upon  me  in 
my  pupilage  there. 

During  my  first  year  at  the  seminary  I  was 
appointed  teacher  of  the  Preparatory  Department, 
— —  a  separate  school  of  thirty  or  forty  girls,  —  with 
the  opportunity  to  go  on  with  my  studies  at  the 
same  time.  It  was  a  little  hard,  but  I  was  very 
glad  to  do  it,  as  I  was  unwilling  to  receive  an 
education  without  rendering  an  equivalent,  and  I 
did  not  wish  to  incur  a  debt. 

I  believe  that  the  postponement  of  these  ma- 
turer  studies  to  my  early  womanhood,  after  I  had 
worked  and  taught,  was  a  benefit  to  me.  I  had 
found  out  some  of  my  special  ignorances,  what 


FROM  MERRIMACK  TO  MISSISSIPPI.    269 
the  things  were  which  I  most  needed  to  know.     I 

O 

had  learned  that  the  book-knowledge  I  so  much 
craved  was  not  itself  education,  was  not  even  cul 
ture,  but  only  a  help,  an  adjunct  to  both.  As  I 
studied  more  earnestly,  I  cared  for  fewer  books, 
but  those  few  made  themselves  indispensable.  It 
still  seems  to  me  that  in  the  Lowell  mills,  and 
in  my  log-cabin  schoolhouse  on  the  Western  prai 
ries,  I  received  the  best  part  of  my  early  educa 
tion. 

The  great  advantage  of  a  seminary  course  to 
me  was  that  under  my  broad-minded  Principal  I 
learned  what  education  really  is:  the  penetrat 
ing  deeper  and  rising  higher  into  life,  as  well 
as  making  continually  wider  explorations ;  the 
rounding  of  the  whole  human  being  out  of  its 
nebulous  elements  into  form,  as  planets  and  suns 
are  rounded,  until  they  give  out  safe  and  steady 
light.  This  makes  the  process  an  infinite  one,  not 
possible  to  be  completed  at  any  school. 

Returning  from  the  West  immediately  after 
my  graduation,  I  was  for  ten  years  or  so  a  teacher 
of  young  girls  in  seminaries  much  like  my  own 
Alma  Mater.  The  best  result  to  me  of  that  ex 
perience  has  been  the  friendship  of  my  pupils, 
—  a  happiness  which  must  last  as  long  as  life 
itself. 

A  book  must  end  somewhere,  and  the  natural 
boundary  of  this  narrative  is  drawn  with  my  leav 
ing  New  England  for  the  West.  I  was  to  outline 


270  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

the  story  of  my  youth  for  the  young,  though  I 
think  many  a  one  among  them  might  tell  a  story 
far  more  interesting  than  mine.  The  most  beauti 
ful  lives  seldom  find  their  way  into  print.  Per 
haps  the  most  beautiful  part  of  any  life  never 
does.  I  should  like  to  flatter  myself  so. 

I  could  not  stay  at  the  West.  It  was  never 
really  home  to  me  there,  and  my  sojourn  of  six  or 
seven  years  on  the  prairies  only  deepened  my  love 
and  longing  for  the  dear  old  State  of  Massachu 
setts.  I  came  back  in  the  summer  of  1852,  and 
the  unwritten  remainder  of  my  sketch  is  chiefly 
that  of  a  teacher's  and  writer's  experience  ;  re 
garding  which  latter  I  will  add,  for  the  gratifica 
tion  of  those  who  have  desired  them,  a  few  per 
sonal  particulars. 

While  a  student  and  teacher  at  the  West  I  was 
still  writing,  and  much  that  I  wrote  was  published. 
A  poem  printed  in  "  Sartain's  Magazine,"  sent 
there  at  the  suggestion  of  the  editor  of  the  "  Low 
ell  Offering,"  was  the  first  for  which  I  received 
remuneration  —  five  dollars.  Several  poems  writ 
ten  for  the  manuscript  school  journal  at  Monti- 
cello  Seminary  are  in  the  "  Household  "  collection 
of  my  verses,  among  them  those  entitled  "  Eureka," 
"  Hand  in  Hand  with  Angels,"  and  "  Psyche  at 
School."  These,  and  various  others  written  soon 
after,  were  printed  in  the  "  National  Era,"  in  re 
turn  for  which  a  copy  of  the  paper  was  sent  me, 
Nothing  further  was  asked  or  expected. 


FROM  MERRIMACK  TO  MISSISSIPPI.    271 

The  little  song  "  Hannah  Binding  Shoes  "  — 
written  immediately  after  my  return  from  the 
West,  —  was  a  study  from  life  —  though  not  from 
any  one  life  —  in  my  native  town.  It  was  brought 
into  notice  in  a  peculiar  way,  —  by  my  being  ac 
cused  of  stealing  it,  by  the  editor  of  the  maga 
zine  to  which  I  had  sent  it  with  a  request  for  the 
usual  remuneration,  if  accepted.  Accidentally  OP 
otherwise,  this  editor  lost  my  note  and  signature, 
and  then  denounced  me  by  name  in  a  newspaper 
as  a  "  literary  thiefess ; "  having  printed  the  verses 
with  a  nom  de  plume  in  his  magazine  without  my 
knowledge.  It  was  awkward  to  have  to  come  to 
my  own  defense.  But  the  curious  incident  gave 
the  song  a  wide  circulation. 

I  did  not  attempt  writing  for  money  until  it 
became  a  necessity,  when  my  health  failed  at 
teaching,  although  I  should  long  before  then  have 
liked  to  spend  my  whole  time  with  my  pen,  could 
I  have  done  so.  But  it  was  imperative  that  I 
should  have  an  assured  income,  however  small  • 
and  every  one  who  has  tried  it  knows  how  uncer 
tain  a  support  one's  pen  is,  unless  it  has  become 
very  famous  indeed.  My  life  as  a  teacher,  how 
ever,  I  regard  as  part  of  my  best  preparation  for 
whatever  I  have  since  written.  I  do  not  know 
but  I  should  recommend  five  or  ten  years  of 
teaching  as  the  most  profitable  apprenticeship  for 
a  young  person  who  wished  to  become  an  author. 
To  be  a  good  teacher  implies  self -discipline,  and 


272          A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

a  book  vvritten  without  something  of  that  sort  of 
personal  preparation  cannot  be  a  very  valuable 
one. 

Success  in  writing  may  mean  many  different 
things.  I  do  not  know  that  I  have  ever  reached 
it,  except  in  the  sense  of  liking  better  and  better 
to  write,  and  of  finding  expression  easier.  It  is 
something  to  have  won  the  privilege  of  going  on. 
Sympathy  and  recognition  are  worth  a  great  deal ; 
the  power  to  touch  human  beings  inwardly  and 
nobly  is  worth  far  more.  The  hope  of  attaining 
to  such  results,  if  only  occasionally,  must  be  a 
writer's  best  inspiration. 

So  far  as  successful  publication  goes,  perhaps 
the  first  I  considered  so  came  when  a  poem  of 
mine  was  accepted  by  the  "Atlantic  Monthly." 
Its  title  was  "  The  Rose  Enthroned,"  and  as  the 
poet  Lowell  was  at  that  time  editing  the  maga 
zine  I  felt  especially  gratified.  That  and  another 
poem,  "  The  Loyal  Woman's  No,"  written  early  in 
the  War  of  the  Rebellion,  were  each  attributed  to 
a  different  person  among  our  prominent  poets,  the 
"  Atlantic  "  at  that  time  not  giving  authors'  sig 
natures.  Of  course  I  knew  the  unlikeness ;  never 
theless,  those  who  made  the  mistake  paid  me  an 
unintentional  compliment.  Compliments,  how 
ever,  are  very  cheap,  and  by  no  means  signify 
success.  I  have  always  regarded  it  as  a  better 
ambition  to  be  a  true  woman  than  to  become  a 
successful  writer.  To  be  the  second  would  never 


FROM  MERRIMACK  TO  MISSISSIPPI.    278 

have  seemed  to  me  desirable,  without  also  being 
the  first. 

In  concluding,  let  me  say  to  you,  dear  girls,  for 
whom  these  pages  have  been  written,  that  if  I 
have  learned  anything  by  living,  it  is  this,  —  that 
the  meaning  of  life  is  education  ;  not  through 
book -knowledge  alone,  sometimes  entirely  with 
out  it.  Education  is  growth,  the  development  of 
our  best  possibilities  from  within  outward ;  and 
it  cannot  be  carried  on  as  it  should  be  except  in 
a  school,  just  such  a  school  as  we  all  find  our 
selves  in  —  this  world  of  human  beings  by  whom 
we  are  surrounded.  The  beauty  of  belonging  to 
this  school  is  that  we  cannot  learn  anything  in  it 
by  ourselves  alone,  but  for  and  with  our  fellow- 
pupils,  the  wide  earth  over.  We  can  never  ex 
pect  promotion  here,  except  by  taking  our  place 
among  the  lowest,  and  sharing  their  difficulties 
until  they  are  removed,  and  we  all  become  grad 
uates  together  for  a  higher  school. 

Humility,  Sympathy,  Helpfulness,  and  Faith 
are  the  best  teachers  in  this  great  university,  and 
none  of  us  are  well  educated  who  do  not  accept 
their  training.  The  real  satisfaction  of  living  is, 
and  must  forever  be,  the  education  of  all  for  each, 
and  of  each  for  all.  So  let  us  all  try  together  to 
be  good  and  faithful  women,  and  not  care  too 
much  for  what  the  world  may  think  of  us  or  of 
our  abilities ! 

My  little  story  is  not  a  remarkable  one,  for  I 


274  A  NEW  ENGLAND  GIRLHOOD. 

have  never  attempted  remarkable  things.  In  the 
words  of  one  of  our  honored  elder  writers,  given 
in  reply  to  a  youthful  aspirant  who  had  asked 
for  some  points  of  her  "  literary  career,"  — -  **  I 
never  had  a  career." 


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S   nRfi 

ypirfiK  ^22  * 

,T 

r\[~  C*     t    Q    4  rtT  A 

APR  o  a  r»?' 

DEC  lo  1979 

KB  iW 

r,  „  iqnp 

KO,.  wiitJUH  13  T7 

!R-    ^EB      4  1980 

'."Ai    U  <i  IJJO 

-. 

NIW221980 

Rec.     HK<.  09  '% 

.. 

BEC.  CIH.     (JAY      2  198° 

Mo«W 

r\r~  f\ 

NOV     5  ipflfl     7! 

DEC24i996 

\J    '                   '    ff7 

KTD     JAN  8  8  1982 

<-•  SOfHiT  JAN  U  P  '97 

FORM  NO   DD  6,  40m   6'76  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  BERKELE 

BERKELEY,  CA  94720 

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